Can't Take the Sky From Me
by RosylaGypsy
Summary: In a world of soulless, corporate music run by Vocal Adrenaline, ex-diva Rachel Berry and her ragtag band of musical misfits drive around in a green van, singing illegal songs and doing illegal things. Until they pick up some mysterious passengers.
1. Chapter 1

_Written for a prompt on the glee_crack_meme, which asked for the Glee characters in a Firefly-like situation. While this _is _cracky, and pretty much ridiculous in every way, it also dips into angst, drama, and frequently melodrama. Kind of like Glee itself. But hopefully with some of the humour of both shows. Expect a lot of gratuitous reference to Firefly, and a lot of handwaving of various circumstantial issues – like, reality. The format will mimic the episode structure of Firefly, more or less, but I'll be taking a lot of artistic liberties that may or may not really suck. Please bear with me, and feel free to give as much critique as you like._

_Warnings: Some swearing. Crack taking itself seriously._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or its characters. I do not own Firefly. Anything you recognise about this unholy mashup likely does not belong to me._

* * *

_**1. Elphaba, Part 1**_

This was it. The big moment. Her time to shine

It was also the most pivotal point in her existence thus far, because her success or failure could spell the end of the world, not just for herself or her career, but actually the world.

(And she wasn't just saying it this time. Seriously.)

Waiting in the wings was a familiar experience for her; the heady mix of adrenaline and nerves and excitement churning in her stomach, her makeup itching in the humidity, the tense air of expectation that filled the audience as they waited for her to step on stage . . . she'd been through all this a million times before. And she loved it. But tonight, though she'd deny it stubbornly if asked (_so please stop asking, Mercedes, it's highly off-putting_), there were more nerves than excitement. In fact, a lesser person might be terrified.

Luckily, Rachel Berry was never less than her absolute best at everything.

"Hey," Mercedes said, suddenly materializing behind her in a whirl of crimson satin. She looked regal and splendid, and if Rachel had been in a better frame of mind, she'd have told her so. "Look, I get that green is the general theme for you tonight, but Honey, your face is kind of matching your dress right now. And that's just taking it a bit too far."

Rachel shot her an irritated look and smoothed down her emerald green dress. "Thankyou, Mercedes, for that valuable input," she said haughtily.

Her fellow diva and best friend just folded her arms and gave her an unimpressed look. Three months ago they'd been dire enemies, which had turned into friendly rivals, then allies. And now, she was pretty much the only friend Rachel had left. Perhaps her only real friend ever. "Terror ain't a good look on you, Rachel."

"I am not terrified in the least. My fingers are simply trembling slightly due to the adrenaline that is to be expected before a major performance." Her eyes drifted back towards to stage. "Incredibly major."

She felt Mercedes squeeze her shoulder. "It's gonna be great. You and I, we're gonna bring this place down."

For some reason, the encouragement only brought her flimsy wall of defence crashing down. "But will it mean anything?" she whispered, trying not to let the frustration, and fear, and loss of the past few weeks crease her face into something unpleasant. "Mercedes, are we fighting a losing battle?"

Mercedes didn't reply, because they both knew the answer to that. Finally, she said, "We're fighting. That's all that matters."

Rachel closed her eyes. That was, essentially, what she'd said while bringing this up the week before (though her speech had been considerably longer and more inspiring), when she and Mercedes had sat in the wreckage of her kitchen, just after her dads had been taken, trying not to cry.

_Dad, Daddy. I'm fighting for rights and liberty and freedom of expression, but mostly, I'm fighting for you_, she thought to herself. Conviction in mind, she opened her eyes and gave Mercedes a firm nod. They would see this through to the end, and it would be amazing, and it _would_ make a difference.

Just then, Miss Corcoran appeared. "Rachel? You're up now." She hesitated. "Are you sure you want to do this? Because it's not too late to back out, and honestly, it's a very risky move . . ."

"Thankyou for your concern, Miss Corcoran," she interrupted. "But I can't back out now, just because the laws have already been passed. That would defeat the entire purpose."

The woman said nothing, but after a moment, nodded in understanding.

Rachel took a deep breath, and grinned at Mercedes. "Let's do this, bitch."

Mercedes shook her head despairingly, but she too was smiling. "Stick to the sermons, White Girl. Good luck."

It was a relatively small audience, Rachel knew. Obviously, what with all that had happened, she couldn't expect a full house. People were scared. But there _was _an audience, those who refused to bow down and let the oppressors take over. Those who supported her, and what she was standing up for. She was going to sing for _them_, even the ones who might be spies, because they needed to hear it most of all. As Rachel stepped into the spotlight, her head angled expertly to make the most of her cheekbones, she let the fear and doubt and insecurity drop away, leaving only determination and pure star quality.

Looking up into the blindingly bright lights, Rachel opened her mouth and began to sing.

"_Something has changed within me, _

_Something is not the same._

_I'm through with playing by the rules _

_Of someone else's game._

_Too late for second guesses,_

_Too late to go back to sleep,_

_It's time to trust my instincts,_

_Close my eyes and believe."_

Her heart soared as the last note swooped into the chorus, and for the first time in too long, Rachel felt powerful. The stage was her platform to the stars. Up here, she was invincible.

_It's time to try defying_

_I think I'll try defying gravity_

_And you can't pull me d-"_

Things happened quickly. Someone yelled something indecipherable, which Rachel ignored because she was used to that. But then lots of people were yelling, and the exit doors at the back of the theatre crashed open, and people in black were pouring in. Her voice stuttered to a halt, and she could only stare in horror as everything fell apart.

People were screaming, and Rachel froze, unable to move from the ring of spotlight. _Don't stop now,_ her inner performer screamed. _They can't touch you if you keep on singing. Keep fighting!_

Meanwhile, the logical part of her brain was also yelling at her: "Run, you damn fool!" Except that wasn't her brain, that was Mercedes, and Mercedes was suddenly there, her red nails digging into Rachel's arm and dragging her offstage. Then they were running, through the wings, backstage, out of the theatre, running as fast as they could while Rachel's second home, the stage, fell to the enemy.

All she could think was, _Those bastards. They didn't even let me finish._

* * *

_4 years later_

It was the perfect plan. Foolproof, you might even say. Every element had been carefully thought out and considered from all angles, and by now they had worked out a system in which each person knew their role, and could play it well. In some ways, it was almost like putting a number together for show choir.

Ever since Rachel had been able to form syllables, she'd only ever wanted to do one thing with her life; perform. It's not like she didn't have the talent or intellect for other professions, far from it, but she'd always somehow understood that where she truly belonged was on a stage, in the spotlight, with thousands upon thousands of people applauding their adoration of her.

What she hadn't imagined, even in those rare moments of self-doubt or brutal pragmatism, was getting into the business of cat burglary.

Of course, given that she was stealing sheet music from a public library in a small, forgettable town in Ohio, it wasn't totally outside reason. And until that bright, wondrous day when she managed to claw her way back to her rightful place on stage, this was definitely her preferred method of passing the time; idealistic, rebellious and pragmatic all in one.

"I don't believe this," a petulant voice muttered.

"Problem, Puckerman?" she asked loftily, pulling on her black gloves.

"Yeah, what the _hell_ am I doing here? I signed on to your travelling circus because you told me I was gonna get paid for stealing stuff."

"We _are_ stealing stuff," she pointed out.

"We're breaking into a building to steal _sheet music_. Goddamn paper with black lines and little black squiggles that look like sperm, which I can't even read!"

"But Puck, it's Tartini! _The Devil's Trill_! The most famous piece of violin music of all time!" Rachel gushed.

He glared at her. "You don't even play the Goddamn violin."

Before she could launch into another diatribe about the importance of classical music, and how it conveyed stories and emotion without the need for words (and also that she had taken violin lessons as a child, thankyou-very-much) Mercedes leaned over and said, "How 'bout the fact that it's worth a tonne on the black market? We got a buyer in Columbus all lined up, and he's willing to pay a lot for that spermy ink, so get over it and do your job."

He scowled under his balaclava. He'd been incredibly difficult about wearing it earlier, until Mercedes had threatened to staple it to his face. "I still this whole thing's ridiculous."

"You're not here to think. Or speak, for that matter, so stop your unnecessary complaints."

"Fine. Let's just get this over with. Which door am I breaking down?"

Rachel sighed. Puck might not be the most reliable member of her little crew, but he could always be relied on for acts of delinquency and vandalism. "No breaking. We're doing this subtly. Do you have your lock pick kit?"

He snorted. "Do I look like an amateur?"

Not deigning to answer that, Rachel turned to Mercedes and handed her a cell phone. "Ok. Mercedes, I want you to be constantly vigilant. If you see someone coming, do not hesitate to call us, and keep constant tabs with Artie. He has a tendency to get distracted . . ."

The other girl rolled her eyes and snatched the phone away. "Believe it or not, Princess, I've been doing this as long as you. God help me."

"Oh, of course. I'm not doubting you, Mercedes, I just want to be sure that everything goes off without a hitch."

"Right. Just get going already."

The brunette nodded, her eyes solemn under the balaclava, then motioned to Puck. In tandem, they left Mercedes waiting beside the south wall of the library, where she was hidden from view but had a decent view of the street, and crept stealthily around the edge of the building.

Mercedes sighed, and silently kept vigilance. When the shit hit the fan, she'd be ready.

* * *

"Yes. Yes. This is a fertile planet, and our people will thrive here. We will rule over all this planet, and we will call it . . . This Planet."

"I think we should call it your grave!"

"Ah, curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

"Aharharharhar! Mine is an evil laugh! Now die! Grr, Arg!"

"Ahhh, oh dear sweet merciful Lord, noooo . . ."

Artie's cell phone chose this moment to vibrate violently, and then rattle off the dash. He dropped Rex and Steggy, and bent down to pick it up. Flipping it open, he frowned at Mercedes' number. Something couldn't have gone wrong already, right? Ah hell, what was he saying – something always went wrong.

"Who dis be?" he answered lightly.

"You _know_ who dis be, Artie," Mercedes said, sounding annoyed but not especially panicked, so he decided to rule out the immediate need to step on it (. . . so to speak). "Are you playing with your dinosaurs again?"

"Give me some credit, girl. I'm a professional," he said, making Rex nom Steggy's neck viciously.

"Yeah, we're a bunch of professional crazies," she grumbled. "Seen anything?"

"Couple cars drove past, but nothing worth getting suspicious over. Tina's outside, keeping watch with her freakish undead eyesight." He looked out the rear-view mirror and caught his girlfriend's eye. They'd parked in an empty driveway down the road from the library, to be discreet – or at least, as discreet as a huge van that was practically the Hulk: On Wheels could be. She smiled and waved from where she was crouched behind the front fence, looking like an adorable, cheery vampire. "So how we doing?"

"Fine so far. No alarms have gone off, and Rach hasn't murdered Puck yet because I don't see his body dangling out the window . . . I'm waiting for it though."

"Girl. _Relax_. There is no reason for VA scouts to be anywhere near this place tonight, and this job is cake compared to some of the stuff we've pulled."

"Aaaand now it's jinxed. I got the unshakable feeling that this will get ugly soon, so keep your eyes open, ok?"

"Yes, yes, O ye of no faith. I'll keep you posted. Enjoy your recon . . ." he stopped suddenly. Tina was waving her hands frantically, trying to catch his eye. Artie glanced up, and saw a large black truck gliding slowly down the street behind them. Its headlights weren't on, and Artie felt his heart drop. _I gotta stop jinxing things with my positive attitude._

"Artie? Why the sudden space-out?"

"'Cedes. It's a VA scout truck," he said, very calmly. "Get out of there now."

* * *

Getting in through the window was almost disappointingly simplistic. Rachel knew she shouldn't complain, but she liked to be challenged in all areas of her life where skill was necessary, and she had become very skilled at sneaking around in recent years. Especially for someone who had a natural inclination towards attention.

But the challenge, as it turned out, lay not in the entry but in the search. She and Puck spent ten minutes rifling through draws and pulling out files at random – their tip-off had specifically singled out this archive room as the hiding place of the illegal document, and so it had to be in here somewhere.

"Hey," Puck hissed suddenly from across the room. "Is this the right sperm?"

Inside, Rachel died a little because she had the feeling Puck would be illogically referring to written music as _sperm_ for the rest of their days. But she pocketed the nail file that she'd been using as a surprisingly effective lock-pick, and strode over to his side. After seeing the title of the document he had in his hands, a smile spread across her face, straining against the black woollen fabric of her mask.

"It is!" she said, grabbing the paper and rifling through it enthusiastically (ignoring his eye-roll). "Puck, you're a genius, where did you find it?"

He shrugged. "On top of that filing cabinet."

"On top of – you mean it was just sitting there, in plain sight?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" Then he blinked. "Hold on a second. This thing is valuable, right? And illegal?"

"Right," she whispered.

"So either some little old lady who keeps this stuff organised started looking at it without knowing that she could be arrested for it, and then forgot to put it away before naptime . . ."

"Or someone _did_ know what it was worth, and was stupid enough to leave it out . . ."

"Or . . ."

"Or it was planted."

They stared at each other in dawning horror, and then Rachel's phone vibrated. She shoved the music at Puck, and fumbled to answer it.

"They're here," Artie's voice said. "Time to go."

* * *

Since Puck had been pretty much running away from people his whole life, it never surprised him when something bad happened around him – an explosion, a broken window, an ATM trailing behind his mom's car on a chain, even a stupid, illegal piece of music in his hand – and someone blamed him for it. Life was unfair, but hell, he was used to that.

So naturally, his first instinct when they heard the sound of a car door slam was to grab whatever incriminating evidence he could reach – in this case, Tartini's sperm and Rachel – and make a mad dash for the window. Since the window faced away from the street, and the VA were pulling up out front, he figured there was enough time for them to make a mad dash away from the library and double back to the van.

"Puck!" Fearless Leader squirmed in his grasp. "Put me down!"

Like hell. She'd only do that careful, girly little shimmy down the drainpipe, and they totally didn't have the time for that. "Shut up and hold on," he demanded, before launching himself out the window.

He thought she might scream, but thankfully managed to keep it to a startled squeak as he hit the ground, hard. Ow. Oh well. He could hear voices from around the building, and it was time to go like _right the fuck now._

Except . . .

"Mercedes!" Rachel gasped. "She's still around the other side. We have to go back and –"

"And what? Get all of us arrested?"

"We can't leave her behind!"

Puck considered knocking her out. It wouldn't be the first time he considered it, and at least now he could claim _survival_ as an excuse. Instead he said, "Mercedes is a smart chick. Either she's back at the van already, or keeping out of sight until they go away. We can't help her, and we need to move now!"

She worried her lip, and he took advantage of the moment's indecision to drag her away from the library. Together they sprinted across the street and down the next row of shops, and he was banking on the fact that their pursuers would at least search the library before branching outside.

There was a shout behind them. Puck swore and increased his pace until Rachel was practically flying behind him like a rag doll. He turned the corner, ran past a few more shops, and then ducked into an alleyway. Christ, the van was in the other direction. There was no way they could double back without being caught.

After a moment, he realised that Rachel had stopped hyperventilating against the wall, and was fishing her phone out. "What are you doing?"

She flapped her hand at him – which he did not appreciate – and punched in the first number on her speed dial. "Artie," she gasped. "Where are you – ok, no, drive away. I mean it. Drive down the street, through town, and then onto the highway. Speed up until you're just out of sight, double back at the turn-off, and then hide under the bridge until you're sure they're gone. Meet us at the chapel on the other end of town in an hour. Just – just trust me, ok? Thankyou."

Puck stared at her as she hung up and slumped back against the wall. "You really think that'll work?"

"Do you have any better suggestions?"

" . . . Gimme a minute."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just hide here for the time being, ok?"

"Fine, but be ready to run."

Rachel nodded tiredly and they both fell into a tense silence.

* * *

"Wh-wh-what?" Tina said, staring at the phone. "Sh-she can't be serious."

Artie sighed. Tina only stuttered when she was nervous. "Babe, how's the new engine? Think it'll hold up?"

She gnawed at one of her nails. "It sh-should. Though we really need a new compression coil, and soon."

"We can get one later, I promise," he assured her. "In the meantime – belt up, Tina, we've got some Storm Troopers to lead astray."

The new engine roared like a dinosaur as he pulled out of the driveway and flew past several startled VA robots. Artie grinned at Tina. She grinned back nervously. If they were gonna be taken tonight, the bastards would have to catch them first.

* * *

An hour later, Rachel trudged up the hill towards St Anthony's Chapel with Noah Puckerman, and both of them breathed identical sighs of relief as they saw the green van there, waiting for them. Then Mercedes emerged, looking tired and grumpy and grass-stained, so Rachel ran up and hugged her tightly. "Oh my God, I thought they might have found you!"

The other girl hugged her back grudgingly, and said, "Yeah, right. The morons have no creativity, none of them even came near my hiding spot. Now, please tell me you at least got the damn prize?"

"Of course." She brandished the sheet music. "But seriously guys, I am sorry about that. I mean, it wasn't my fault personally, but all the same . . ."

"Hey, don't be sorry," Artie called from the open door. "I didn't even know our baby go that fast. Kudos goes to Tina, of course."

Tina's head emerged from the front engine, and she gave them a tiny wave.

"So they took the bait?" Puck asked.

"Yep. They'll be halfway to New York by now."

"Good. Now. _What the fuck happened._"

Rachel planted her hands on her hips and frowned thoughtfully. "My guess is that our contact was either working with the VA from the start . . ."

"No way," Artie argued. "My background check was flawless."

" . . . Or they somehow got wind of what he was doing, and forced him to cooperate in order to catch us. I would say that it was a fairly late intervention too, given that they didn't get there until we had the music."

"But why bother leaving the music there for us at all? Why not just corner us and then arrest us?"

"Evidence," Puck said. "We cover our tracks well. Without something concrete to pin us with, we're worthless."

Mercedes snorted. "Since when do they bother with little things like rules and justice?"

Rachel sighed loudly. "Either way, we now need to get rid of this thing as quickly as possible, or else they _will_ have something on us. I propose that we go straight to Columbus immediately and meet the buyer."

"Good plan. Hey, if we get there before tomorrow evening, it will be time to meet Quinn."

Rachel smoothed her hand over the creased paper as they began to pile into the van. She knew the value of what they had just liberated, but that didn't necessarily mean that it had been worth it. Hopefully, _The Devil's Trill_ would help solve their problems, and not create more.

* * *

_A long, long time ago...  
I can still remember  
How that music used to make me smile.  
And I knew if I had my chance  
That I could make those people dance  
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while._

But February made me shiver  
With every paper I'd deliver.  
Bad news on the doorstep;  
I couldn't take one more step.

I can't remember if I cried  
When I read about his widowed bride,  
But something touched me deep inside  
The day the music died.

~ _American Pie,_ Don McClean

It had been over four years since the bill was passed. Since then, original music of any kind had been outlawed from the state of Ohio, because of its detrimental effect on the mental and emotional welfare of the population, and because it resulted in higher crime rates. Now, the only legal kind of music was what the huge record company Vocal Adrenaline put out, because as far as the government was concerned, sameness = equality and community.

A lot of people called bullshit – some louder than others – but those people didn't have money, so it was all for nothing. These days, VA was the biggest power in the state, and them? They were dangling off the bottom link of the food chain.

Their daily existence could be summarised thusly: Hot, dry air. Endless fields of yellow grass, as far as the eye can see. Pale blue sky. A huge, noisy van covered in cracked, peeling green paint, and nothing but empty road, for miles and miles and miles. And, of course, no music.

There was something deeply depressing about being on a long road trip and not having any music to listen to. Since their lives were pretty much one long road trip, with the occasional criminal act thrown in to remind them that they're still alive, Mercedes can only conclude that her life has become deeply depressing. Or at least, somewhat frustrating.

But she knew it was going to be this way, and she'd chosen it anyway, because it was the only kind of freedom they had left.

Mercedes flipped unenthusiastically through the pages of _Vogue_, which was at least a few months old, but the best she could manage when they so rarely hit civilisation. She had claimed shotgun today, because sitting next to Artie and listening to Artie tap his fingers on the steering wheel while humming the tune of some half-forgotten AC/DC song was better than being in the back, listening to Rachel's post-mission-whining. Their self-appointed leader had a habit of going over things – loudly – that went wrong, that could have gone wrong, what they could have done better. Or on the rare occasion when things went right, she'd spend all day congratulating herself until Mercedes suggested a sing-a-long just to shut her up.

Today, Tina was the unfortunate sounding board to Rachel's theories regarding the heist, and why it hadn't gone as smooth as it should. Mercedes didn't feel as guilty about this as she probably should have, because Tina was by far the most patient of them all and sometimes her passive cheer could coax Rachel into a quieter form of contemplation. By the sound of things, that wasn't happening today, but Mercedes would give it another hour before rescuing their mechanic. In the meantime, she'd deal.

Giving up on the mag, since she'd read it at least eleven times already, Mercedes tossed it into the back in case one of the girls was interested. She turned to her left to initiate some kind of conversation with Artie, but was distracted by a sudden burst of acceleration.

"Hey, what's your deal?" she demanded . . . and then caught sight of the motorbike in her rear-view, with a mohawked idiot on top. "Boy, I _know_ you're smart enough not to get into a drag race with Noah Puckerman."

Artie, who was smirking into hisown rear-view, just shrugged. "Being smart all the time is boring."

"He's on a bike. You're driving a mechanical hippopotamus."

"Come on, 'Cedes, we've got the whole open road to ourselves, and you know I'm the best handicapable driver in the States. Loosen up a little."

She rolled her eyes because seriously, _boys_. But she reasoned that if Artie were gonna kill himself or anyone else via this van, he'd have done it already. Probably while trying to escape from the law. There was that one time where he'd driven it into a river, and that other time where he'd driven it off a small cliff, across a golf course, and through a swordfish billboard. He'd kept the swordfish as a memento.

So really, while the boy's driving could give her heart failure, none of them had died, and that was something.

"ARTIE! ARE YOU DRAG-RACING PUCK AGAIN?" Rachel's unearthly shriek nearly shattered their windscreen more effectively than any swordfish. They both winced.

"No!" he replied inoccently.

"Good, because the last thing poor Elphie needs is another paint job due to your carelessness!"

Mercedes turned around to say, "Hey if that ever happens, we could finally paint it a colour that make my retinas ache. What do you say?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Her name is Elphaba, and so it only makes sense that she be green."

Before Mercedes can make a cutting reply about how Rachel's idea of 'sense' would make Idina Menzel cry, Puck roared past the van, whooping and hollering like a madman. Artie narrowed his eyes and muttered, "One day, Puckerman. One day."

They fell into silence once more. Even Rachel had come to the end of her tirade, by the sounds of it. After a little while, Artie resumed his tapping on the steering wheel, and Mercedes realised that she could recognise the tune.

"Ridin' down the highway," she sang quietly.

He caught her eye, smirked, and joined in. "Goin' to a show."

"_Stoppin' all the byways_

_Playin' rock'n'roll."_

In the back, Tina giggled and began harmonising. Rachel also perked up.

"Oh are we singing? Great! Everyone follow my lead!"

Mercedes and Artie shared another Look, and belted out the lyrics as loud as they could go.

"_It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll  
It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll  
If you think it's easy doin' one night stands  
Try playin' in a rock roll band  
It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll__ . . ."_

The rest of the drive passed by rather quickly.

* * *

Evening couldn't come soon enough for Quinn. Having been cooped up in her father's study all day, answering phone calls, filing papers and generally running the business, it was a relief to get out and do something really productive. Like packing her suitcase, and making sure a certain lime green van was going to arrive on time to take her the hell out of this city.

It really said something about the state of her sanity, that she'd rather be travelling with a bunch of delinquent Mystery Inc rejects rather than staying in her own home. Home had privacy, walk-in closets, a proper bed, and the certainty of a decent meal every day. _Elphaba_ had criminal charges, a bad paint job, and Rachel Berry. Quinn really ought to bring it up with her therapist, but it might result in her being charged with criminal association, and that wouldn't be good for her fledgling business.

Speaking of which, her work had really taken off since hitting the road. Her calling card said _Quinn Fabray: Freelance Business Consultant_, and while this was perfectly correct, her actual mission statement was a little more flexible than that. If there was one thing she'd learned under the joint tutelage of her father, who juggled as many affair as he did shady business propositions, and her old cheerleading coach, who had gone on to bigger things and now juggled politicians' heads for fun, it was that deviance was the biggest business of them all. And in the small back-water towns of Ohio, where Berry and her little crew thrived, deviants were everywhere.

Quinn contemplated the insides of her walk-in closet. She would have be a little more economical with her luggage than the last time, since there was barely any room in the van to begin with. While holding up two dresses and trying to decide which shade of green went better with her eyes, her cell rang.

"Good afternoon, this is Quinn Fabray," she intoned smoothly, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"_Hey girl, whatup?"_

She smiled. "Artie. It's good to hear from you, providing you're not making this call from a police station."

He chuckled. _"Nope, we're twenty minutes out of the city. You ready to rejoin the circus?"_

"Hmm. Is it still green?"

"'_Fraid so. We're working on it."_

"Well, I guess that was too much to hope for. I'll meet you in an hour in the usual place, ok?"

"_You got it. See you then, Babe."_

"Bye." She tossed the phone onto the bed, and finished packing.

Once her suitcase was full, she called a cab, locked her bedroom door, and made her way downstairs.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?" her mother slurred vaguely from the living room. "Oh, you're not disappearing again are you, Quinnie?"

Quinn walked over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "I'll call you later, Mom. Don't drink too much before Daddy gets home."

"Philandering bastard," Judy muttered, downing the rest of her daiquiri. "Have fun, Quinnie. Don't have sex."

"Yes, Mom." Quinn strode out the door without looking back.

* * *

"Honey, please. Please don't leave. We can sort this out, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again . . . Will, please! You'll regret this!"

There was nothing he had left to say to her that wouldn't end in him crying. All he could do was gaze at her sadly, still a bit in love with her desperate, beautiful, tear-stained face. But that love wasn't enough anymore - it hadn't been for a long time.

He closed the door quietly behind him and set off down the street, suitcase in hand. Well, that was it. In the space of ten minutes, he had gone from a loving husband with an apartment and a mortgage, to a broken, bitter man with nothing but a suitcase full of stuff. He felt a curiously vague sense of peace steal over him as he walked away. He was tired of hurting, of giving everything he had but only getting cut in return.

Was this what freedom felt like? Running away and cutting off all ties to your old life? Maybe that made him weak, it might even make him the bad guy, but he couldn't change his mind now. If he went back, he'd probably never leave again.

One thing was for sure; for better or worse, William Schuester had finally grown up.

* * *

"Good luck you guys. I'm sure it'll go off without a hitch."

"I wish I could shared your blinding optimism."

"Don't be pessimistic, Mercedes. Tina is right, there is absolutely no reason why this shouldn't be a clean, easy exchange."

"Yeah, except for the fact that our contact totally screwed us over and our asses were _this_ close to being boned by the VA last night."

"He has a point, Rach."

"Alright, enough! You guys, we need to keep our heads, and stride in with confidence. He will have no choice but to cooperate. That being said . . . Artie, be ready to make a quick getaway if necessary. Tina, why don't you use the last of our previous pay to get some groceries? There's a little place just over there that should suffice. Puck, Mercedes, let's do this."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"You got it."

"Whatever. Hey dude, you want any more dinosaurs while I'm out?"

"Hmm. I could use a Pterodactyl . . . that's the one that flies, Puck."

"Oh, ok. I'll keep an eye out."

"_Puck_!"

"_What_?"

" . . . Yeah, we are so screwed."

* * *

In the city, there are crowded streets and isolated souls. There is repression and rebellion, opportunity and loss, give and take. People push past each other in the street, lost in their own worlds, playing their given roles. And once in a while, they collide.

Five young people who have lost everything fight a silent war over their freedom. A daughter of society, bred into a world of cutthroat superiority, wanders off the edge of the map. A man trudges along the peripheral of life, trying to find a new purpose in a world that no longer welcomes him.

A young man sits on the edge of his bed in a cheap motel room, shoulders bowed under the weight of every bad decision he'd ever mad, and the one good decision that made his life a living hell. On the opposite bed, his One Good Decision sleeps on in the shadows of his own broken mind. The two of them have nothing left except each other. That is most definitely not enough to survive. The young man closes his eyes and thinks, _We are so __totally screwed._

Notes: I ended part one a little earlier than _Firefly _did. Part two will be up soon.  
* Artie's dinosaur conversation is pretty much directly ripped from Wash in the show. I'll try not to do this too often, but I couldn't not use it, and there was no point in trying to change it too much, or else it lost its charm. Apologies, do not own, etc.  
** Also regarding Artie: the _Elphaba_ is specially designed so that only he can drive it, via hand controls. More on this later.  
*** The swordfish thing also doesn't belong to me. It comes from _Get Smart, _the movie, of all things (except I don't think Max kept the swordfish)

Thankyou for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

_By complete coincidence, I found this Firefly fanvid set to Defying Gravity just the other day - __.com/watch?v=MdXkGXD7gDc&feature=related_. _Aside from being completely awesome in its own right, I now randomly look at it when I want inspiration for this fic._

_And speaking of Defying Gravity, I was alerted to a slight mistake with the lyrics last chapter, and now feel horribly embarrassed about it. The line _'close my eyes and believe' _is actually _'close my eyes and leap_.' So, my apologies._

_Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee, Firefly, or any songs that you may recognise._

_**

* * *

**_

_**Elphaba: Part 2**_

Tina was in the grocery store, contemplating whether or not to by a punnet of strawberries (on the one hand, they were short on cash and needed to be practical; on the other hand . . . _strawberries_), when she saw the man.

Or more correctly, she saw his rather mesmerizing hash of blonde, curly hair. The rest of him became interesting a moment later, when she realized that he was crying over a mango.

Tina glanced back and forth, trying to spot who the man might belong to, but the fruit and veg section was empty except for them. Tina gnawed on her lip. Social propriety would demand that she put the strawberries down, edge away quietly, and leave him to it. But he looked so _lonely_ and _miserable_ just standing there, hunched into his grey sweater vest, staring at the mango like it had killed his kitty cat and then punched him in the face. She couldn't just leave him like that.

"Um," she began, approaching him cautiously. "E-excuse me sir, but. Are you okay?"

The man's head snapped up, and he looked at her in surprise. Then he ducked his head and started blinking rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." He gave her a strained smile.

"Are you sure? I know it's none of my business, but you look very, um, bereft."

His expression softened into a real smile, though it still looked sad. "Thanks for your concern, but it's nothing terrible. Just one of those days."

She nodded sympathetically, adjusting her hold on the basket. This would be the polite time to move away- what if he started crying again? – but she found herself asking, "Is there anything I can do?"

The man chucked wetly, and shook his head. "Unless you happen to know a really cheap hotel nearby? I would have booked one in advance, but I left sort of quickly and left my phone on the kitchen bench, so . . ." he trailed off awkwardly, and for the first time she noticed the shabby travel bag by his feet.

"Sorry, but I don't really know this area that well. My friends and I are heading out of town this evening. We don't usually stick around in one place for long."

He smiled wistfully. "Must be nice, being out on the open highway."

"Yeah, though in our case it's more like the highway to hell," she joked brightly. Then she froze. _Uh oh, too much information_, she thought. _Stupid! An illegal song reference _and_ incriminating details all in one! Rachel will kill me if I get arrested in a grocery store . . ._

But the man surprised her by laughing. "You know that song? It used to be one of my favourites. I mean," his voice dropped to a low whisper. "Not that I know the words anymore, or anything."

Relieved, she giggled. "My boyfriend really likes those guys. I mean, he used to."

"Well then your boyfriend has good taste." He winked at her, and she thought that he was pretty handsome for an older guy, now that he wasn't looking miserable. And he liked real music! Something about him made her feel at ease, and she found herself sticking out a hand. "My name is Tina."

He shook it graciously. "Will Schuester."

"It's good to meet you, Mr Schuester. So, um. What other songs have you forgotten the words to?"

For the first time, a real smile spread across his face, and Tina felt that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

"I have a terrible feeling about this," Mercedes muttered as the three of them strode through the street. Rachel was in the middle, Puck and Mercedes were half a step behind on either side of her. It was their classic 'we aim to misbehave' walk, with touches of the 'you can't bring us down' formation. Choreography was essential in presenting a strong, unified front.

"Do you ever have any good feeling about anything?" Rachel demanded.

"Tater tots?" Puck suggested. Both girls shot him a staggering death glare, and Mercedes smacked him sharply upside the head before he could skitter away far enough.

"Don't start with me, boy," she warned.

"Kidding, I'm kidding! Geez."

Rachel sighed. So much for strong and unified. "Let's not think about what could go wrong. Our energy and attention could be far better utilised with other matters."

Their destination was on Badger Avenue, a tiny, inconspicuous-seeming coffee shop that was easy to ignore if you weren't looking for it. Rachel took a deep, fortifying breath as they approached – dealing with Ryan was always difficult. If it weren't for the fact that he was the most well-connected dealer in Ohio, she wouldn't come near him.

But he would do business with them, and Rachel knew they couldn't afford to be picky about this, especially now that the VA were on to them. In the first place, they rather desperately needed cash. In the second place, this music was burning a hole into the hidden compartment of her handbag.

The three of them entered the coffee shop, which was empty except for the young woman behind the counter. Rachel walked up to her and smiled winningly. "Good evening. My friends and I are looking for Mr Ryan, because . . ."

"In the back," the woman said curtly, jerking her head to the right. Slightly put off by the woman's attitude, but recovering admirably, Rachel nodded her thanks and made her way towards the back door, trusting that Puck and Mercedes were following close behind.

They entered a small, dimly lit room, which was occupied by four people. Two large men stood by the back wall, keeping a close watch over everything, while their boss, a blonde man in a suit, stood with his back to the door. He was talking to a short teenager with an unnatural head of hair, who looked both terrified and miserable. " . . . And next time, tell your agent to send someone with some actual _finesse_, or else I'll be sending him back a dead body. Is that understood, kid?"

He guy nodded, and scuttled towards the exit. He stopped short at the sight of the trio, staring up at the Rachel with wide eyes, until Puck growled a warning. He jumped like a spooked rabbit, and then slipped quickly through the door.

"Ah, Miss Berry and friends," Bryan Ryan spun around to face them with an oily smirk. "Another incompetent group of pubescents for me to deal with, how nice."

"As I recall, Mr Ryan, you practically begged us to take this job for you, so you are in no position to complain," Rachel said. "And if I may, your persistent compulsion to hire high schoolers like that boy, simply because they are cheap and easily suggestible, is just asking for incompetence."

The smirk widened into a nasty grin. "You always have something to say about everything, huh Berry? Such a big mouth, for such a little girl."

"Yes, I get that a lot," she replied nonchalantly. "It has always struck me as one of the most sincere compliments I could receive."

Ryan snorted in disgust, and moved around his desk so that it became a barrier between them. As if to reassert his power over their current situation. "Spoken like a true performer. Or ex-performer, I suppose. Tell me, does that brattish diva attitude make a life of crime difficult?"

Rachel bristled, but Mercedes cut in before she could snap back. "Can we cut to the chase here, Ryan? You're being a little too antagonistic for my liking today. Is there some kind of problem?"

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers like a campy Bond villain. "I don't suppose you've seen the papers today, children?"

Rachel and Mercedes shared a brief, worried look as he continued. "Because I'm curious as to how you're gonna explain this one away with that big mouth of yours."

He threw a newspaper down on the desk between them. On the front page, in glaring bold letters, was the caption, _"THEIVES IN THE NIGHT: Terrorists steal illegal document from high security."_

Rachel snatched the paper up in horror, forgetting her previous conviction to stay cool and collected. "_Terrorists_? Are you serious?"

"'High security'?" Puck said incredulously. "It was a Goddamned _library_."

Mercedes scanned the article over Rachel's shoulder, then folded her arms and glared at Ryan. "So what? They obviously don't have any incriminating details. The dude who sold us out gave them the info too late."

"Maybe. Or maybe they have just enough evidence to link you crazy kids back to me. Not a risk I'm willing to take."

Rachel slammed the newspaper back down. "Are you saying . . ?"

"That's right, Princess. Deal's off."

"You can't do that! You have just as much invested in this as us!"

"Now see, that's where you're wrong, Berry. Unlike you poor little rich kids, who are out there floundering in the wilderness without Mommy and Daddy, I'm a businessman. I get deals like this all the time, and can afford to let something go if it's not worth the risk of bringing the VA to my doorstep."

"That's not fair!" Rachel ground out.

"Life's not fair, kiddies. Might as well get used to it now." He leaned back with an apologetic grin that wasn't sincere in the slightest. "Sorry. You might have better luck with another, less savvy businessman. I'm sure there are plenty of young, naive kids willing to cash in illegal smuggling, especially now that the laws are spreading all throughout the Midwest."

"You double-crossing, cowardly douchebag," Puck seethed, taking a step forward, his hands balled into fists.

Immediately, the two silent bodyguards were on either side of the desk, cracking their knuckles. They were both huge, even bigger than Puck, and it was clear he couldn't hope to take on both of them. Ryan didn't even twitch, just smiled benignly. "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Mohawk. They'll make a mess, you see, and that's not healthy in a food establishment."

A tense moment of silence passed. Puck didn't back down, prepared to bust some faces even if the laws of physics were against him. Mercedes held herself stiffly, ready to spring forward and mace the bastards' eyes out. Everyone looked to Rachel, waiting.

Eventually, she looked up from the paper and glared steadily at Ryan. "Puck, stop," she said quietly. "It's not worth it."

"But . . ."

"Let's go."

"Wise choice, little girl," Ryan said as Puck reluctantly backed away.

Rachel only glared at him. "You'll regret not cooperating. Opportunities like this don't come along very often."

"In your case, no." His smirk followed them out the door. "Enjoy your music, kids."

* * *

Puck ranted about "that fuckin' cowardly bastard, should'a turned him into a bloody blonde smear on the ground . . ." for three blocks straight, until Mercedes told him to shut up, or else she'd turn him into the VA herself. After that, he kept his complaints to a quiet grumbling, while the two girls walked slightly ahead.

"He ain't our only hope, by any stretch," Mercedes said. "What about Remington?"

Rachel shook her head sharply. "Too risky. He's involved with that Sylvester woman, and the last thing we need right now is _her_ breathing down our necks."

"Tanaka then. He wouldn't dare blab to the VA."

"Tanaka has no idea of _Tar_- of _its_ value. He'd underprice us horrifically."

"Seriously, at this point? I'm not sure I care. We need money, like, yesterday."

"Well _I_ care!" Rachel said viciously, coming to a sudden halt in the middle of the sidewalk. "I care that this precious, beautiful piece of music is worth so much, but people will only see it as a commodity. A means to an end. And if we start thinking like that, if the very thing that we're fighting for becomes nothing more than . . . than a ten dollar bill, then _why even bother._" She folded her arms tightly, scowling. "We might as well just sell _Elphaba_, get jobs in a fast food chain, and listen to homogenous, synthesized VA tunes on the radio for the rest of our lives."

Mercedes dragged her to the side. "Christ, Rach, speak a little louder why don't you? The VA has spies everywhere. And stop preaching, 'cause I _get it_, okay? You know I care about freedom of expression and real music and all that just as much as you do."

Rachel sighed heavily. "I know, I know. But 'Cedes, just because we're now technically terrorists doesn't mean we can stoop to the level of every other crook in this state, who just wants to make a cheap buck. We have a purpose. A point to make."

"And we're gonna stick to that," Mercedes assured her. "But you can't survive on a purpose, Rachel. We need more."

"Like food," Puck piped up from behind them. "And you know what else I need? A gun. So the next time some smug prick tries to short-change us, I can shoot his balls off."

"Puck, for the last time, we are non-violent criminals," Rachel sighed. "Murder is another whole league of trouble that we don't need to get involved in."

"But . . ."

"Yeah, we don't need this argument right now," Mercedes said sharply. "Puck, shut up. Rachel – please try to be pragmatic about this?"

The shorter girl pursed her lips. "Fine. We'll . . . _consider_ Tanaka. Or someone else. But I refuse to just give it away, so be prepared to fight for our cause!"

"Always am," Mercedes said, rolling her eyes as Rachel stomped off in the direction of _Elphaba_. "I swear she gets crazier every day."

"Maybe that worm Ryan had a point about her attitude," Puck muttered.

"_I heard that!_"

* * *

It was beginning to get dark by the time _Elphaba_ once again came into view, and Rachel sighed with relief. After such a stressful afternoon with stupid Ryan and his stupid suit, she was ready to hit the road again. However, she caught sight of something that brought her to a sudden halt.

Tina was talking to a man. Rachel had never seen him before, but the two seemed very friendly, laughing together as he helped her pile bags into the luggage compartment. Beside them was another guy, who looked somewhat younger and obscenely tall. He was loading a huge box into the space, and seemed to be treating it delicately, as though there was something very heavy and valuable inside.

"What the hell? I don't remember scheduling passengers," Mercedes demanded.

"Who's the old guy chatting up Tina? Artie'll be pissed," Puck observed.

Rachel was already marching over. "Tina," she greeted without preamble as their conversation came to a startled halt. "Who are your new friends?"

"Oh, um, Rachel. You're back. Um . . . this is Mr Schuester. Mr Schuester, this is Rachel, our . . . ah . . . well she owns _Elphaba_."

"You can call me Will," the man said, offering his hand and a friendly smile. "I just ran into Tina here in the grocery store, and mentioned that I needed to go to Cincinnati. Since that's your direction, she was kind enough to offer me a ride there."

"Oh really?" Rachel pumped his hand until he winced, attempting to both smile at him and glare at Tina at the same time. "And what did Artie say about that, exactly?"

"Artie says it's cool," the young man in question said, wheeling up to them. "Since we're going that way anyway, and he said he'd pay."

"Oh, well. That's alright then." Rachel's smile widened to a blinding level. "Since we haven't been properly introduced, my name is Rachel Berry, and these two are Mercedes and Noah. We should reach Cincinnati in a couple of hours, though I'm afraid it will be a bit crowded."

"That's perfectly fine," he replied, trying to gently pry his hand out of her grip.

Behind her, Puck cleared his throat. "And what about that guy?"

Rachel turned her attention to the tall young man who hung awkwardly in the background. Up close, he looked even more freakishly huge, and he seemed sort of off-balance and nervous. Finally letting go of Schuester's hand, she advanced upon him with another vaguely predatory grin. He took a half-step back, and hastily said, "Finn Hudson. Um, that's my name."

Ignoring his clear nervousness, she seized his hand and shook it. "It's very nice to meet you, Finn Hudson. Are you going to Cincinnati as well?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I see. Well, I must apologise in advance if the drive there is a little tight. And you are awfully tall, so I imagine you might feel that quite acutely."

He gave a sheepish half-smile. "Yeah, I get that a lot. My friends used to call me Frankenteen."

Rachel laughed, and his smile widened slightly. It was a rather nice smile. But then Mercedes ruined the moment by saying, "Well Frankenteen, that's some luggage you got there."

The smile vanished, and he edged a bit closer to where the large box was visible in the luggage compartment. "Um, yeah. It's an expensive table, for my Mom. I'm delivering it to her." He fidgeted a moment, then said, "It's pretty fragile. Do you think it will be okay down there?"

Rachel and Mercedes glanced at each other, and then Rachel said, "It should be fine. Artie's a splendid driver, he'll be sure not to hit any potholes."

"Okay. Good. Um, I guess I'll get on board now?"

"Sure, we'll be leaving very soon. Make yourself comfortable."

He nodded, gave them both another tight smile, and quickly moved away. Once he was safely out of earshot, Mercedes muttered, "Great, another smuggler on board, with a totally different agenda. Just what we need."

"I wouldn't worry, 'Cedes," she replied. "He seems fairly harmless to me. Like, a poor, lost puppy dog. And besides, it's only a couple of hours' drive."

"You're just saying that 'cause he's _cute_."

"Mercedes! I'm a professional."

"Yeah the way you were eyeing him up was real professional," she said, smirking. "And anyway, it's the lost-looking ones you've got to watch out for, 'cause they're usually kinda desperate."

"Fine, then we'll watch out for him. And on the bright side, we now have money!"

"True enough, though after a couple hours on the road with us they might beg for a refund."

"Don't be ridiculous, we are a charming, friendly group of people. Now, is Quinn back yet?"

Ignoring Mercedes' exaggerated eye-roll, Rachel walked back to the front of the bus, and found their final passenger chatting to Artie. "Oh there you are, Quinn."

"Berry," the blonde girl acknowledged, giving Rachel a critical look over the top of her sunglasses. "Still rocking the bunnies, I see."

Rachel folded her arms over her sweater defensively. "You're very late, we were about to leave without you."

"No, we weren't," Artie said, already hefting himself into the driver's seat with Puck's assistance. "Since this hunk of green ain't going anywhere without me behind the wheel."

Quinn smirked. "Thankyou, Artie. I'm glad someone around here has a sense of courtesy."

While Rachel seethed, Puck glanced up and gave Quinn a lavish wink. "Yep, we give the best service in the state. Lookin' good, by the way."

He was rewarded with a chilling glare. "I was not including you in that, Puckerman. Also, I believe this trip will be much nicer for everyone if you don't speak to me."

He affected a wounded look. "But I'm such a brilliant conversationalist."

Mercedes walked up before things could degenerate further. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. Quinn, it's good to see you again. I missed having some civilised company around."

"A-hem."

The blonde smiled back at her, genuinely friendly this time. "And you. I have some new magazines, if you're interested."

Mercedes grinned. "You are my new best friend."

"A-_hem_."

"Oh, Rachel, can you get Quinn's bag? Thanks." The two girls boarded the van, chatting in runway language.

Pouting, Rachel picked up Quinn's stupid pink suitcase and threw it into the luggage compartment. It narrowly missed Finn's mystery big box, and she regarded it curiously for a moment, wondering what he really had in there. She hoped it wouldn't bring him – or them, for that matter – too much trouble. He seemed like such a nice young man, but even nice guys had their secrets.

Tina popped her head out. "Are you ready, Rachel? Everyone's on board."

Rachel smiled and nodded. "Coming." She slammed the compartment door shut, and hopped in beside Artie. "Okay, let's get out of here.

* * *

They drove for an hour and a half. The people in the back made light conversation to pass the time, and gradually got to know each other. Quinn and Will Schuester managed to find some common ground regarding the education system, and were soon chatting like old friends. Meanwhile, Tina and Mercedes drew Finn into a friendly game of poker, which he was terrible at, but seemed to enjoy nonetheless. Even Mercedes had to admit to herself that his awkward but friendly manner was somewhat endearing.

"So do you guys like, all sleep in here?" he asked, looking around at the interior decor after the girls cleaned out his stash of mini-Mars Bars. "I mean, it's a big van, but doesn't it get a little crowded when you all need to lie down at once?"

Tina shrugged. "Not really. There's enough fold-out beds, and we're all used to each other's close company by now. Besides, Puck, Mercedes and Rachel usually sleep outside during the summer."

"Wow. So it's like a permanent camping trip?"

"Pretty much," she laughed.

"What about showers and stuff?"

"There's plenty of public showers and change rooms in the cities, so we use those most of the time. Or a campsite. Or we'll hire out a motel room."

"That's pretty awesome. What do you do for money?"

The girls exchanged a look, but before either one of them could reply, Quinn interjected. "I do freelance business consulting."

Will, who was listening to the conversation, raised his eyebrows. "That sounds impressive. I have to say, you don't seem the type for this lifestyle."

She tossed her blonde hair. "It's more a part-time thing where I'm concerned. And anyways, being on the road opens up more opportunities for me."

"Also, you love us," Mercedes teased, elbowing her in the side. Quinn sighed theatrically.

"I suppose you're tolerable, for crazy people. Well," she shot a pointed look at the front of the bus. "Most of you are."

They laughed, and Rachel glared back at Quinn through her eye mirror. "I know you're laughing at me!" she called out.

"We love you, Rachel!" Tina replied, grinning hugely.

Rachel huffed, and went back to glaring out the window. She was tempted to go and join in the socialising, but someone had to stay up front and make sure Artie didn't start humming to some song or another while there were guests in the back. Though she too felt like bursting into song (she was really feeling the urge for some Bon Jovi), her worried thoughts kept the musical inclinations at bay.

Instead, she distracted herself with thoughts of how to possibly sell their prize now that Ryan had fallen through. Even if she could resign herself to the fact that no one would pay what it was truly worth, they at least needed enough compensation to keep them going until their next job. It was depressing, but Mercedes was right; they had to be practical.

Sighing, she absently watched Puck's motorbike in the rearview mirror, wishing they could bust out into _Living on a Prayer_. Why was the world so cruel?

She was startled out of these contemplations by her handbag, which started vibrating. She dug her cell phone out of it and frowned at the unknown caller, before hitting the call button and pressing it to her ear. "Hello?"

The line was bad. Through the static, she could just make out a high, nasally voice saying, _"Is this Rachel Berry?"_

"May I ask who's calling?"

"_Someone with information."_

Her eyes widened. Artie was shooting her strange looks, and she flapped her hand at him. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean."

A slow, wheezy chuckle. "_It's to do with your . . . _interesting_ cargo."_

Rachel's heart slammed into her chest. "Who are you?"

"_Just a friendly observer. So do I have your attention?"_

She bit her lip, then said, "Hold on one moment." Covering the phone with her hand, she hissed at Artie, "Pretend we hit a bunny."

"What the hell?"

"We need a reason to pull over, so pretend we hit a bunny or something!"

He shook his head. "What . . ? Ok, look, there's a gas station just up ahead. I'll say we need to refill. That do?"

She nodded. In eye mirror, she noticed a couple people were giving her strange looks, including Mr Schuester. To cover, she lifted the phone back to her ear and said brightly, "Oh it's so nice for of you to call, Daddy, I haven't spoken to you in ages!"

The guy on the other end sucked in a breath. _"Call me 'Daddy' again."_

Rachel blanched, and pulled the phone away in disgust.

Artie pulled into the tiny gas station, announcing, "Okay, people, bathroom break. Tina, let's refill this baby." People tumbled out, stretching and yawning, though Finn glanced at Tina with a worried expression.

"We're not gonna be too long, right? It's just, I kinda have this thing . . ."

"Five minutes at the most," she reassured him.

"Uh . . . ok."

Ignoring Artie's questioning eyes, Rachel disembarked and wandered around to the other side of _Elphaba_. "Now, what's this all about?"

The mystery caller cleared his throat. _"You need a buyer for that sheet music. I have one for you."_

"And what makes you think we don't already have one?"

"_A buyer who will pay the right amount, and respect its value?"_

Rachel frowned. "Say I'm interested. What do you get out of this? A cut of the payment, or something more?"

There was a long pause. Then, _"I want to do it for you, Rachel. That's all."_

"Excuse me?"

"_I'm in love with you, Rachel."_

"WHAT? Who the hell _are_ you?"

"_I've been in love with you for so long, you have no idea_," he gushed. _"I've been following your exploits for some time now, listening to the rumours . . . I've always wanted to know what you looked like, and then you walked – no, no, _sauntered_ – into that room and it turned out you were so much hotter than I could have imagined . . ."_

"Wait, wait a minute. When I walked in . . ?" Something clicked in her memory. She gasped. "You're that kid! The one Ryan was tormenting earlier! Were – were you _eavesdropping_?"

The guy stopped rambling for a moment, as if realising his sudden slip. _"Don't you dare tell anyone. If my mom found out, I'd be toast."_

Rachel wanted to thump her head against the side of the van, out of disgust or frustration or just plain bewilderment. "I'm going to hang up now. Don't bother trying to call again."

"_Wait!" _he shrieked. _"I wasn't lying about the offer, Rachel. I'm very well connected, and one of my connections just happens to be someone who'd really appreciate _Tartini."

"Not. Interested," she ground out.

He fell into a sullen silence, but just as she was about to hang up, said, _"Fine. Be like that. I'm sure the VA will appreciate my anonymous tip-off."_

She felt her stomach drop, but forced her voice to remain steely. "That wouldn't do any good. They'd never catch us, for starters, and even if they did there's no way they could find anything."

"_Maybe you can hide some sheet music easily. But what about your other cargo?"_

"Other cargo?" she echoed.

"_I know you're harbouring fugitives, Rachel."_

" . . . What? That's ridiculous. I don't know where you're getting your information, but it's completely incorrect."

"_There's no point trying to deny it. You picked up two passengers in Columbus, isn't that right? Well they're wanted by the law on very serious charges."_

The heavy feeling of dread in Rachel's stomach increased. _Will 'Mr-Nice-Guy' Schuester. Poor, scared, dopey Finn. Of course they were too good to be true. _"What charges?"

"_I don't know, it's all very hush-hush, even for a well-connected guy like me. But if you don't cooperate, then I'll make a call to the VA and tell them you're on the road to Cincinnati. They'll find you soon enough, that van really sticks out."_

"What exactly do you want?"

He giggled. _"Not much, beautiful. Just tell me a few nice, dirty things in that sultry voice of yours, and we'll call it even."_

"You're blackmailing me for _phone sex_? Are you for real?"

"What's this about blackmail and phone sex?" Puck's voice interrupted, as he appeared suddenly around the van. At the ashen look on her face, his expression turned stony, and he snatched the phone away. "Hey, who the fuck is this?" A beat. "No, I won't give Rachel back, 'cause I don't think you're saying things a lady needs to hear. Now – hey, listen you little bastard . . . hey!" He glared at the cell. "He hung up."

Rachel slumped against the van, her brain working furiously. The kid could be bluffing. After all, she'd seen him, she could just as easily turn him in to the authorities in retaliation. But all the same . . .

"Rachel, what's going on? Who was that little prick?"

She pushed herself to a standing position. "Puck, it appears our guests are not all that they seem."

* * *

Quinn leaned her head against the window, watching as Tina refilled the engine. Something was off. Cincinnati was only another forty minutes away at the most, why did Artie feel the need to stop now?

"Quinn, you alright?" Will asked. The two of them were the only ones not to disembark. She had to say that she enjoyed having someone mature to talk to in this van, even if he seemed to be a little . . . unhappy under the surface. Being shrewd and perceptive – necessary skills for a businesswoman, and more importantly, a socialite – she was good at reading people. And she could tell that both their guests were hiding something.

With Will it seemed to be mostly an emotional thing, as if he'd recently been through some kind of crisis and was simply pasting a smile on over his depression. The fact that he'd rather go with a group of young crazy people to Cincinnati rather than take than an official mode of transport clearly indicated _some_ mental and/or emotional instability. But overall, he seemed harmless.

Finn was another story. Mostly he just had the scared, lost look of someone who was very clearly out of their depth. He seemed open and friendly for the most part, but she'd notice that now and then he'd catch himself, and pull back slightly as if forcing himself not to make any connections, despite instinctively wanting to. Whatever his secret was, Quinn had a feeling it was more serious than Will's. She wondered what he was trying to escape from.

All this passed through Quinn's mind in a heartbeat. She smiled at Will and simply said, "I'm fine. Just not a fan of gas station restrooms."

He laughed in response, and nodded. "I'm definitely with you on that one. There was this one time . . ."

A sudden bout of yelling distracted them. It was Rachel-yelling, which Quinn usually ignored, but there was something unusually vicious about it that made her sit up a little straighter, frowning. She glanced out the window, and was alarmed to find both Rachel and Puck facing down Finn in an apparent confrontation.

She and Will exchanged a look, and hurried outside.

". . . Don't know what you're talking about," Finn was saying.

"Finn, I understand that you are scared, and I will go out on a limb and guess that you are not exactly used to being in trouble. But it's clear that there _is_ some kind of trouble, and we are now involved in it, and if you come clean now, it will be better for everyone." Rachel stood with her hands on her hips, a hobbit-sized force of pure determination. Rather than be placated in any way, Finn only looked more defensive, and terrified. Though, that could have been because Puck was looming behind Rachel, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

Quinn grasped Mercedes' arm. "What is going on?"

"I came in late to the party, but apparently Frankenteen here is a fugitive. Or maybe a spy; Rachel hasn't been clear with the accusations."

Well, that it didn't take long for _that_ damaging secret to explode. Typical.

Meanwhile, Finn was backing up towards the van, a panicked look on his face. "Seriously, I'm not a bad guy! I just want to get to Cincinnati, that's all, I swear."

"The evidence would indicate otherwise," Rachel said, also advancing.

Will cleared his throat and took a step forward. Before Quinn could warn him to stay out of his, he said, "Um, guys, perhaps we should all calm down a little?"

Puck threw him a threatening look. "Stay put, man. Your interrogation is next."

"What? I have no idea what's going on!"

"To be fair, neither do I," Mercedes cut in, folding her arms and looking at Rachel. "I mean I know this guy, at least, an agenda, but a couple hours ago you were convinced it wasn't a threat to us, right?"

"Agenda?" Will frowned.

"No, no agenda!" Finn insisted.

"I . . . received a phone call," Rachel said, ignoring him. "I was told that we were harbouring fugitives, and that the VA would be alerted if I didn't comply with . . . a certain request."

She was immediately bombarded with questions, but rose her voice to drown them out, "Now, he could have been bluffing, but I can't risk that without finding out for sure. So, Finn – I need to have a look in that box of yours'."

The boy went deathly white. "No. No, please, you can't do that. I . . . I won't let you!"

Rachel and Puck exchanged a look, and the next second Finn was being tackled to the ground. Schuester jerked forward, but seemed to think better of it at the last second. The rest of them hung back, holding their breath as Mercedes and Rachel opened up the luggage compartment and dragged Finn's large box out of it.

"No . . . let me go . . . you don't know what you're doing!" Finn struggled against Puck, and the mohawked boy had to struggle to keep him pinned. He was the strongest, but Finn had both height and sheer desperation to his advantage. "Please!"

"I'm sorry, Finn, but this is best for everyone," Rachel said, somewhat patronizingly (but that was her default tone of voice). Then, with the help of Tina, Mercedes, and a wrench, she managed to pry the lid loose; after an appropriately dramatic pause, she kicked it off.

Everyone leaned forward a little, curious in spite of themselves. At first, there was only a stunned silence. And then . . .

"Oh, my God," Rachel said, quite calmly. "It's a body."

They clustered around and peered inside, incredulous, only to find that she was right.

Inside the box was a boy. His skeletal frame was curled into a tight foetal position, eyes closed, and his face deathly pale. He had delicate, almost feminine features, and was dressed in a sombre black outfit. He did indeed look like a corpse.

"Well. That's something you don't see every day," Artie quipped.

"OhmyGodYOU STOWED A DEAD BODY IN OUR VAN!" Rachel shrieked.

"Rachel!" Mercedes said sharply. "Look."

They all looked, and realised that the boy was actually breathing, so, not a corpse. And not only that, but he was beginning to stir. His eyelids fluttered open, his limbs slowly untwisted themselves from the cramped position, and his eyes – a pale, blue-green colour – sharpened to awareness.

Then he saw the thong of unfamiliar faces standing round, and let out a high, piercing shriek of terror that made everyone leap back a few paces in shock.

Meanwhile, Finn took advantage of Puck's slack grip, and wrenched himself away. He scrambled forward, pushing through the throng of spectators, and knelt by the boy. "Hey, hey! Kurt. It's me, it's Finn. Do you remember me?" he reached up and gently grasped the kid's thin shoulders, trying to stop his hysterical flailing. "Kurt?"

Slowly, the boy – Kurt – calmed down and focused. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "F-Finn?"

"Yeah, dude. It's me."

They watched Kurt absorb this for a moment, and then, his face creased and he began to tremble violently. "Finn, you can't be here, they'll catch you and – and they'll hurt, and they'll make me do things that hurt and I can't, I can't do it anymore, please you have to go . . ."

"Shh, shh. It's alright, they're not here. We're far away now, we're safe, and they can't hurt you." He pulled Kurt out of the box and wrapped his arms around him tightly. With shaky arms, Kurt clung to him and buried his face in Finn's broad shoulder.

"Safe?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Then . . . where's Dad?" he asked, his voice muffled and broken. "I w-want my Daddy."

As Finn only closed his eyes and only held on tighter, Rachel stepped forward. Everyone else was still frozen in shock. "What is this?" she asked softly.

Finn opened his eyes and looked up at her. "This is my brother."

* * *

Artie had no idea what was going on, how he ought to react, or why there was suddenly a traumatised, androgynous boy falling out of their luggage compartment. Given that, it was almost a relief when the gas station owner finally spotted the mass freakout that was happening right outside, thought they were lunatics, and chased them off with a shotgun.

At least he forgot to make them pay for the gas.

They decided to continue this confrontation elsewhere, so everyone climbed back into the van with a silent, subdued air. Finn guided his brother towards the back – still trying to keep him calm – and kept a protective arm around his shoulders as they pulled away.

After ten minutes of driving in total silence, Rachel asked him to turn off into a dirt road, which lead up to an old, unused shed. He parked behind it, keeping out of sight of the main road.

"Keep an eye out," Rachel murmured, and he nodded in understanding.

"Don't even think about making a run for it," Puck was saying, looming over the two brothers with his arms folded.

Quinn glared at him. "Puck, you're scaring them."

"Good!"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Stop that. And don't look so terrified, Frankenteen, we're not gonna shoot you."

"What are you gonna do with us, then?" Finn asked quietly.

"Well first and foremost, get some answers," Rachel said as she walked up to them.

He avoided her gaze, and didn't say anything.

She sighed and said, "Look, Finn, we're not the bad guys. It's obvious you have some . . . issues . . . and we're sympathetic to that. But we can't help unless you tell us what's going on."

Finn looked wary, but clearly recognised that he had no choice in the matter. He glanced down at Kurt, who was gazing vacantly into his lap, looking completely disengaged from his current environment. "Outside? I don't want him to have another panic attack, but . . ."

"Of course. Tina will stay with him, won't you Tina?"

The Asian girl nodded, and sat up next to Kurt. "Hi, do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?"

He didn't answer, but blinked slowly and reached out to touch her hair, apparently fascinated. Finn unwrapped himself from Kurt, squeezed his shoulder and said, "I'll be back in a moment, ok?"

Kurt gave a tiny nod, still distracted by the blue streaks in Tina's hair. Sighing, Finn followed Rachel outside, along with almost everyone else.

Artie stayed put, but kept an eye on the proceedings. This was one explanation he didn't want to miss.

* * *

"Well, it kind of started about five years ago. Before all the new laws and stuff about music. It was just after Kurt's dad and my mom married."

"You're step-brothers?"

"Yeah. My Dad died when I was a baby, and Kurt . . . well, similar deal. So our parents met, they fell in love, and got married. Anyway, we were both in our school's show choir and stuff –"

"Oh, I love show choir!" Rachel said. At everyone's collective glare, she cleared her throat. "Sorry. Continue."

"Um . . . anyway. So we both liked music, but Kurt . . . he was really good. Like, insanely good. He had this huge range, and everyone made a big deal out of it, even if people teased him for sounding like a girl. School was kind of hard for him, you know? But, he didn't care, 'cause he knew that he was gonna be a star one day.

"Then the laws were passed and he was – well, furious. I mean, we both were, but him especially. He started posting all these videos of himself singing on the internet in protest, even though it would get him into trouble. Then someone from the VA came to our house, and we thought they were gonna arrest him or send him to juvie or something – but he said that they'd seen the videos, and were really impressed. He wanted Kurt to train at their music school, and then get him to work for the VA company.

"Kurt didn't want to at first, but then decided that, maybe if they were interested in his voice, they wanted to incorporate real music into their stuff again. Or he thought that he could reform them, somehow. But mostly I think he was just desperate to sing, so, he went to their school."

"We weren't able to see him. They didn't tell us where the place was, apparently for security reasons – they'd had problems with sabotage and stuff, I think – and for a while we could only send letters. At first Kurt seemed happy – he liked the challenging lessons, and liked being appreciated for his voice. Then after a while the letters stopped. We thought maybe he was just busy, but the weeks stretched on, and then months, and we still had no word. Burt – his dad – started getting worried, and began trying to investigate.

"Then, we finally got a letter. But it wasn't from Kurt, it was from the VA. It basically said that we couldn't see Kurt for a while, so stop trying.

"Burt was _pissed_. He and Kurt are really close, and no one was gonna tell him he couldn't see his own kid. He and Mom started rallying against the VA, getting support, basically doing anything they could to get Kurt back. But then one of their protests turned violent, and they were arrested. I was there too, but Burt told me to run away before they could arrest me too. I . . . haven't seen either of them since."

Here, Finn's voice cracked slightly. Will, who was closest, put his hand on Finn's shoulder in support. After taking a deep breath, he continued.

"So I had, like, no clue what to do. Mom and Burt were gone, and Kurt was still missing, and I was basically his only hope. But then I was contacted by some organisation, who knew about other young singers being taken away by the VA and not coming back. They told me that if I gave them money, they could infiltrate the place and get Kurt out. I gave them everything I could, because I knew Burt would pay anything to get Kurt back.

"So it worked. I met them in Columbus, and they gave me Kurt. He'd been given some kind of drug, which made him sleep for days. It was due to wear off tonight, and I'd planned to be in the next city by then."

"So you put him in a box?" Mercedes couldn't resist asking. "Didn't you think that might be a little dangerous?"

"It had air holes!" he said defensively.

"I didn't see any."

"They were just little air holes!"

Quinn cleared her throat and said, "All the same, was it really necessary?"

Finn sighed and said, "The guys who got them out, they told me that the VA knew he was missing, and would be looking for him everywhere. I couldn't risk them someone recognising him in the Columbus or on the way to Cincinnati.

"So, now we're both fugitives. I don't care what happens to me, not anymore, but I can't let him go back to that place. I don't know what they did to him, but . . . well, you saw how he was when he woke up! It's like he's . . . damaged somehow. I just. I need to keep him safe. I'm all he's got now."

There was a long pause as everyone absorbed this information. Then Will cleared his throat and said, "That's . . . quite a story."

"And this thing is now a lot more serious than I thought," Rachel said, frowning thoughtfully.

Finn's head snapped up. "You're not gonna turn us in, are you? I'm sorry we got you involved in all this, but we can just get off in the closest city and get out of the state, you'll never have to see us again . . ."

"We could, you know," Puck said. "I'll bet there's a reward."

"Shut it, Puckerman."

"What? It makes sense!"

"We are not turning them in," Quinn said. "Rachel, tell me that's not what you're thinking."

The other girl looked up. "Hmm? Oh no, of course not! In fact, you guys are exactly what we need!"

Blank silence. "Um . . . Rach?" Mercedes said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't you see, Mercedes? _This_ is the purpose we've been waiting for! An actual lead, on how to bring the VA down!"

"Oh, Lord," Quinn muttered, while everyone began to protest.

"Look, I just want to keep my brother safe, we don't need to cause any more trouble . . ."

"We're just trying to get by, Rachel, we can't afford to make waves right now . . ."

"Hello, am I the only one remembers that we have some _stolen goods_ that need selling?"

". . . I really should have just got a room for the night. Or taken a public bus . . ."

"This is unfair . .!"

"GUYS!" Artie suddenly barked from up the front. "We have a problem."

Rachel scrambled up to the front. "What?"

He pointed out towards the main road, where three black vans were stealthily inching up towards them. "You're secret admirer wasn't kidding about the tip-off."

* * *

Will was confused. Somehow the evening had begun with him leaving his wife, and now he was on the run from the authorities in a green van, with a bunch of college-aged smugglers, a clueless fugitive, and his traumatised brother. Somehow in his effort to escape his personal problems, he'd ended up headfirst in a situation that was much worse, and so, so far out of his control. Sort of like Finn, he supposed, except Will was clinging to the peripheral of this whole mess rather than being at its very centre.

Well, that's what he got for breaking down in tears in a Vietnamese grocery store.

And now, there was really nothing for him to do but hold on tighter and just go with it. So for the second time that night, Will found himself clambering back into the van in a panicky rush, while Rachel hissed instructions at their driver to _go, go, now!_

"Black and blue, black and blue, black . . . blue?" Kurt was muttering to himself in the back seat, and in their absence had plaited all the vivid indigo streaks in Tina's hair. He stopped as soon as Finn returned, however. "Not safe anymore?"

"Don't worry, Artie'll get us out of this," Tina reassured him. Right on time, the engine kicked into life and he began to pull away.

"Quickly, quickly," Rachel chanted. "We'll have to cut across the paddock."

"Yeah, I know . . ."

A gunshot tore through the air. Everyone jumped about a foot out of their seats, and at least half of them yelped. Will's heart thumped against his chest. _Oh Jesus, it just got very, very bad_.

"Looks like they ain't messing around," Artie said, in a remarkable calm tone of voice. "Shit's about to get real, people."

"No shit, really?" Puck snapped.

"What do we do?" Quinn said sharply, one hand on Kurt's shoulder as he huddled into Finn.

Rachel watched in quiet dread as the figures in black began to advance upon the car. One of them called out, _"Everyone come out now, and don't give us any trouble or the next shot will not be a warning."_

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Rachel said, glaring through the window. "Just drive, Artie. Cut across the paddock, mow right through them, I don't care. Let's just get out of here now."

"You got it."

The engine roared to life for the second time, and _Elphaba _jerked into motion. Artie roughly manoeuvred her into position, then accelerated sharply – right into the path of the VA. Confronted with the van's sudden, piercing headlights, they winced. Then they realised that it wasn't stopping, and leapt out of the way.

"Don't kill them!" Rachel shrieked.

"Mixed signals much?" he complained, but made sure he didn't actually hit the bastards. Even if it would be worth, like, a gajillion points.

"Everyone either buckle up or hold on!" Puck yelled as the van swerved past the black VA cars. One of them skidded against her side, causing her to rattle violently, almost jerking a couple of people out of their seats. Then he spotted something out the window that made his eyes go wide. "Oh, shit . . . GET DOWN!"

Everyone in the back ducked, and a flurry of bullets ripped into _Elphaba_. Quinn, Will and Finn screamed, Tina and Puck swore loudly, and Kurt whimpered. Will's ears were ringing with the lingering sound of gunfire, and the roaring white noise of adrenaline. He was quite sure that he was going to die any minute now.

"Boy, it sure would be nice if we had a _gun_ right now, don'cha think!" Puck bellowed.

"Don't start with me, Puckerman!"

Oh yes, they were all definitely going to die.

Up front, Rachel chanted with increasing volume, "Faster, faster, faster _would be better_!"

"I'm doing all I can, woman!" Artie yelled back as the van continued to speed up.

"Actually, faster would be a lot better." Mercedes said, raising her head slightly to look out the back window. "They're following us!"

"Then we'll just have to lose them."

Artie finally reached the main highway again and swerved sharply. Then he accelerated once more, and they rocketed down the highway, leaving the VA cars far behind.

* * *

It took less than five minutes for the VA to be out of sight, but Artie continued to speed along the highway until Will was sure they were no longer in Ohio. Gradually, they began to uncurl themselves from the floor, or each other, and dazedly tried to regain a sense of equilibrium.

"Okay," Rachel breathed. "Okay, I think we're good now. Artie, well done."

"No prob," he said, still stuck in his little bubble of driver zen. Will wanted some of that zen.

"Is everyone alright?" she demanded. "No injuries?"

Mercedes did a quick headcount, and reported back. "Everyone seems more or less intact."

"Says you," Quinn muttered. "My nerves are destroyed, so I can't tell for sure what the damage is."

While the others bickered, Will looked over at Finn and Kurt, who were both silent. "Finn? You okay?"

The tall boy nodded jerkily. He was still holding Kurt, who had yet to remove his face from Finn's lap, and was trembling all over.

Quinn also observed this, and called out, "Guys, I think we should stop for a while. Get our bearings, discuss what the hell we're gonna do now, you know."

"Where are we, anyway?"

"West Virginia," Artie replied. "About fifty minutes out of Parkersburg."

"I agree with Quinn," Rachel said. "Let's stop somewhere for the night."

Their home for the night turned out to be outside an old church, because even though they were no longer in Ohio (and hopefully the VA thought they still were), they still wanted to keep off the highway. Just in case.

They clustered around a small campfire, talking quietly and munching on some barbeque stuff Tina had bought earlier. Will stared despondently at his hamburger and remembered that he'd watched her buy that stuff. God, it felt like a lifetime ago.

"Hey." The girl in question sat down beside him, offering him a Pepsi. He accepted it gratefully. "Rough day, huh?"

"You could definitely say that," he replied, popping the can open. "It's a little worrying how much this seems not to bother you guys, though." He looked over at Puck, who had procured a guitar from one of _Elphaba_'s hidden compartments, and was now plucking at it while Mercedes, Rachel and Artie talked quietly amongst themselves.

"Yeah, well – we're kinda used to rough days."

"I don't know how you do it," he admitted.

"I guess it's the only way we know how to live now," she said with a shrug. "Look, I – I wanted to apologise. It's my fault you've been though all this crap today."

He smiled gently. "Don't be sorry. You were just trying to help, and that meant a lot to me. Still does, actually."

"Really? Even after everything?"

"Really."

She ducked her head, smiling. "Well anyways. We'll be passing through a city tomorrow, so you can get off there and take another bus back to Cincinnati or wherever. One that's not, you know, on the highway to hell."

He chuckled. "Right. Thanks, Tina. I know this day has been weird and scary, but it was certainly something I'll never forget."

She grinned, and wandered back over to Artie. They all looked happy. It was really quite amazing.

Someone shifted behind him. "You know, you don't have to leave."

Will sighed. "Yeah, I do. I'm not cut out for this life, Quinn."

She took Tina's vacated seat. "None of us really are."

"Even Rachel?"

A wry smile flitted over her pretty face. "Especially Rachel. She's just trying to get back the life she really wants, by any means necessary."

"I . . . I get it, Quinn. I really do. Music used to be my life too, you know. And I think it's fantastic that you guys are willing to fight so hard for it, but to sacrifice so much? Being constantly hunted and persecuted? I couldn't do that."

"Finn couldn't either, I'm sure. But he is anyway, to protect his brother."

Will glanced back at the van, to where Kurt and Finn were settling down for the night. "He's a strong kid."

"True, but he needs support. Someone to trust, or else neither of them will survive. He trusts you."

He shrugged. "Don't know why. I'm not the most reliable person."

Quinn was silent for a moment. Then she said, "We're all running from something, Will. But being with people, with friends . . . it can sometimes make you feel like you're running towards something instead."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Sage advice."

"I'm a consultant, it's in the job description."

Will laughed quietly. "Well I'll keep it in mind."

"See that you do. Goodnight, Will."

* * *

The others were all outside, sitting around the fire. Finn could see it flickering outside the window, and felt suddenly, incredibly alone. Sighing, he clambered up to where his stepbrother lay, huddled in Tina's blankets.

"Hey. I know you're awake," he said to the back of Kurt's head.

Kurt's shoulders hunched inward for a moment, before he sighed and rolled over. Once again, Finn was struck by how small and pale he looked, his eyes sunken and wary.

"Sorry about the t-shirt," he said, sitting on the edge of the bunk. "I know you hate stuff from Target."

Kurt wrinkled his nose and plucked at the baggy red shirt Finn had given him to wear in place of that awful black suit. "Polyester," he muttered. "Yuck."

It was so much like his old self that Finn was momentarily speechless. He took a deep breath and tried to smile. "Are you feeling any better?"

Kurt shrugged one shoulder, causing the shirt to nearly slip off. "Sleepy. But . . . can't sleep." He sniffed, and turned his face into the pillow. "I miss Dad," he whispered.

Finn hesitated, then reached out to hold Kurt's hand. "I know, man. I miss him too."

"And your Mom?"

"Yeah . . . God yes. But we'll see him again soon, don't worry."

"Liar," he said calmly. "They're gone."

Finn squeezed his hand tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

For the first time, Kurt looked up at him directly. He frowned slightly, as if puzzled. "You're not gone. "

"No. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"You came and got me. I didn't think you would."

Finn leaned over and gave him a tiny, crooked smile. "Well, you're an idiot."

Kurt blinked, and then his lips also quirked into the ghost of a smile. Then he surprised Finn by hauling himself up and wrapping his arms around his neck. Finn hugged him back tightly, enveloping the fragile limbs and sparrow-thin shoulders, wanting desperately to give his brother a sense of safety and security. Wanted him to forget the years of darkness and loneliness, and remind him that he wasn't alone. _I'm not going anywhere_.

"Sing something," Kurt whispered, his face buried in the crook of Finn's neck. "Please."

"Like what?"

"Something you like. Nothing rap though. You can't rap."

Finn chuckled and slowly lowered him back to the bed, tucking the covers around him. "Says you." He made to brush Kurt's bangs back off his forehead, but then remembered that Kurt hated people touching his hair. So he instead brushed his thumb in slow, rhythmic patterns over his brow, just like his Mom used to do when he couldn't sleep. After a moment's thought, he began to sing the first song that came to his head.

"_Oh, why d'you look so sad?  
__Tears are in your eyes  
__Come on and come to me, now  
__Don't be ashamed to cry  
__Let me see you through  
_'_Cause I've seen the dark side too."_

As he crooned softly, Kurt's eyes began to drop shut. Finn felt his heart constrict at how childish he looked. He'd always been small, yes, and kind of fragile-looking, but he'd still been one of the strongest, most stubborn people Finn knew. He hoped to God that that person was still in there somewhere.

"_When the night falls on you  
__And you don't know what to do  
__Nothing you confess  
__Could make me love you less  
__I'll stand by you  
__I'll stand by you  
__Won't let nobody hurt you  
__I'll stand by you . . ."_

Kurt had fallen asleep by the time the song finished. Finn adjusted the covers again, and reluctantly pulled away.

"You're a good singer," Rachel Berry said. He turned around and saw her standing by the door, her hands clasped in front of her.

Finn shrugged. "I did show choir. I'm not totally useless."

"Quite the opposite, I'd imagine." She fiddled with the hem of her sweater for a moment. "Look, Finn. I just wanted to say that I'm not planning on using you or your brother as a tool to bring down the VA."

He frowned. "But you said . . ."

"I know, and I apologise. Sometimes I can get a little caught up in my own concerns and don't immediately think about what I say. But I do understand that Kurt is very hurt by whatever happened to him, and your first priority is to keep him safe. Just know that – although I imagine you might want to go as far away as possible – you are both welcome here."

"Why? If you don't want to use us, then why bother keeping a couple of fugitives around? I mean, you saw what happened with the . . . car chase and . . . bullets and stuff."

Rachel was quiet for a moment, then said, "My parents were taken away from me by the VA, because they protested too much. For my sake. I've been there, Finn, I know what it's like to suddenly be left all on your own with nothing but a purpose to keep you going. If it weren't for my friends – Mercedes, Artie and Tina, even Puck – I wouldn't have been able to keep fighting." She smiled, a little sadly. "So if you have nowhere else to go and need that support, we are happy to offer it to you."

Finn didn't know what to say. "I . . . um. Thanks."

"No problem." There was a pause, and the sound of Puck's guitar filled the silence. It was a familiar tune, one he hadn't heard in years. She gestured outside. "Would you like to utilise that voice a little more? We frequently indulge in some illegal musical activity after a stressful day. Helps keep our spirits up."

For the first time in what felt like too long, a real smile stole across his face. "Sure."

"_. . . She says: We've got to hold on to what we've got  
'Cause it doesn't make a difference  
If we make it or not  
We've got each other and that's a lot  
For love - we'll give it a shot_

_Ohhhh, we're half way there_  
_Woah-oh, We're livin' on a prayer_  
_Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear_  
_Ohhhh, we're livin' on a prayer!"_

_

* * *

_

_Wow, big chapter :P Hope you enjoyed it._

_So, because Glee is first and foremost a musical, I'm randomly purring lyrics and things in to help tell the story, or trying to incorporate them with the text. If people find this annoying or obnoxious, then don't hesitate to tell me. But for now, here's the soundtrack to both chapters thus far._

Elphaba: Part 1

- _The Ballad of Serenity - Firefly  
__- Defying Gravity - _Idina Menzel_, Wicked  
- American Pie - _Don McLean  
_- Long Way To The Top - _AC/DC

Elphaba: Part 2

- _Highway to Hell_ - AC/DC  
- _Living on a Prayer_ - Bon Jovi  
- _I'll Stand by You_ - Glee Cast

Next Episode: _The Trophy Job_


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter is giving me hell. Specifically, the second half is, so I decided to split it in order to put up something substantial before Christmas. So, my apologies for the wait (busy time of year and all). After Christmas it will be much easier to get stuff done :) Thankyou so very much for all your reviews and encouragement._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, Firefly, or any songs used herein._

* * *

**_The Trophy Job: Part 1_**

_Pressure, pushing down on me  
Pressing down on you, no man ask for  
Under pressure - that burns a building down  
Splits a family in two  
Puts people on streets_

_It's the terror of knowing  
What the world is about  
Watching some good friends  
Screaming 'Let me out'  
Pray tomorrow - gets me higher  
Pressure on people - people on streets_

Queen & David Bowie – _Under Pressure  
_

Small town bars were all the same, with their flickering neon lights and sticky tables, shrouded in a hazy blanket of nicotine. Rachel quite liked them nonetheless, if only because people out here were much more likely to break the rules and put on a metal track rather than the standard VA tunes. Not Rachel's cup of tea, but she could appreciate the rebelliousness.

It was late afternoon, and there weren't many people about. Just a few sad-looking businessmen in wilting suits, drowning their middle-aged misery and lost ambitions in Budweiser Classic. They did say that the bottom of a beer bottle was the last refuge of a failure, so Rachel was thankful to be drinking lemonade, even if her mood was rather melancholic.

Another week. Another coward who refused to pay. This was becoming a pattern, and she didn't like it.

"You guys," she said. "I'm thinking we should give up on Tartini."

Mercedes and Puck stared at her like she had just announced that they should get up on the table, kick off their shoes and break out into a Kenny Loggins number. Before they could say anything, she rushed to clarify, "I mean for now. We won't keep it forever, but let's face it, we're not getting anywhere with finding a suitable buyer, and the more we enquire, the more attention we risk attracting. I just think that we should focus our immediate efforts on getting another job."

"But you said yourself, it's too valuable to dump somewhere, which means that we'll need to carry it round," Mercedes argued. "Isn't that a bigger risk?"

Puck snorted. "What, riskier than harbouring a couple of big-name fugitives? I'm with Rachel, we need to get our asses back into the game. We've been lying low for too damn long 'cause of those two, and now . . ."

"Shh!" Rachel cut in frantically, her eyes darting suspiciously around their secluded little corner of the bar.

"Aw c'mon, you had no problem talking about the sheet music!"

"It's one thing to openly discuss illegal goods that we stole, Puck, but a whole new level of discretion must be taken when it concerns our guests."

He folded his arms and leaned back. "Right. So if they're such a liability, why the hell are they sticking around? Wouldn't it be better for everyone, including Yeti and Crazy Tinkerbell, if they just left?"

"They wouldn't last one minute by themselves right now! The best thing we can do for them is offer our support, at least for the time being."

"Yeah, 'cause we should risk all our lives and freedom and stuff just so you can get into the Yeti's pants."

"Oh don't be so vile!" she snapped, flushing.

"Noticing a lack of denial," he smirked.

"You . . !"

"You guys are seriously talking about this now," Mercedes interrupted, deadpan and displeased. "_Seriously._"

The two of them fell into a sulky silence, glaring away from each other. Sometimes, Mercedes truly hated being the Only Sane Woman. "Okay, so say we put our current project on the backburner. What then?"

Rachel tapped her nails against the glass, avoiding her friends' gaze. "Well, there are a few minor jobs waiting in the wings, but they may not be enough to keep us going. So I think that maybe . . . we should consider performing again."

"Aw hell no," Puck muttered. "_Again?_"

"Don't pretend you don't miss it!" She turned pleading eyes to Mercedes. "Remember the garages? And the underground clubs? Remember how amazing and rebellious it felt? I mean, it can't compare to the stage, but . . ."

Mercedes heaved a sigh. "Rach, we can't. Not after the last time."

"Not even if we're desperate?"

"We're not that desperate yet."

As the three of them argued quietly, Rachel slowly became aware of a commotion at the bar. Her eyes slid over in that direction, and she saw a small group of young men crowding around the lone bartender. From this distance it was hard to make out their exact conversation, but she distinctly heard the word 'fag.'

Puck and Mercedes' continued conversation faded into the background. Eyes narrowed, Rachel's fingers slowly curled around her glass and she stood up.

"Rach?" Mercedes asked, her voice wary.

"Please excuse me a moment, I'm just going to get another drink," she said calmly, her gaze fixed on the bar as she pushed her chair back in and crossed the room.

As she drew closer, the conversation became louder. ". . . So how 'bout it, Fairy?" one of the guys was saying, leaning far over the counter. "Bet you'd accept a blow job as payment, ain't that right?" His friends all guffawed drunkenly at the uncreative insult.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Andy," the bartender said steadily. He was a short young man, fairly skinny, with dyed blonde hair and pierced ears. "You've got to stop coming round here."

"Don't tell me what to do! What the hell gives someone like you the right to speak to me like that?"

"Andy. Get out before I call the cops. I don't get this weird fixation, or whatever it is, you have on me, but . . ."

"_You little shit!_" Andy growled and lunged forward, grabbing the bartender by the front of his shirt. His pack gathered around, egging him on loudly, while the other patrons looked on in uncertainty and alarm.

At this point, Rachel's glass slammed down on the bar. "Excuse me," she said loudly.

Andy's head swivelled around to look at her. So did everyone else's. She smiled politely and said, "I'd just like to ask you – Andy, was it? Is that short for Andrew? Anyway, what precisely gives _you_ the right to assault this man in his own workplace?"

He sneered. "Stay out of this, bitch."

"Oh, how creative. Tell me, are 'fag' and 'bitch' your default labels for someone who opposes everything you say?"

The men sniggered at each other. Andy's sneer turned into an ugly grin. "Mouthy little girl, ain'cha?"

"I get that a lot," she sighed. "In any case, I can tell that a lecture on human rights and tolerance would be wasted on you, so I'll just ask you to leave now, please."

Andy finally dropped the bartender and advanced towards her instead. "Oh yeah? You wanna try and convince me? Gonna use that mouth for something good?"

"If you're asking for oral sex, then I'd rather die, thankyou. Anyway, I think it would be cruel to contribute to your delusion of straightness when you clearly have some confused, closeted feelings of homosexuality."

His face twisted into an expression of fury, and he swung his arm back to backhand her across the face. She ducked just in time, then kicked him in the groin and punched him in the nose while he was still doubled over. "I learned that from my gay dad, you son of a bitch."

"I'm gonna kill you!" he roared, blood streaming down his lip, but at that moment a pool cue came crashing down on his skull. He hit the edge of the bar and then the floor, moaning in pain.

Rachel turned to grin at Mercedes. "Lovely timing."

"Unlike you."

But their victory was short-lived, as they suddenly became aware of the face that Andy brought backup. And the backup was not pleased. The girls glanced at each other, and then over at Puck. He was already up, and grinning maniacally. "Fucking _finally_."

Pandemonium ensued. Mercedes wielded her pool cue like a lance, while Puck punched the nearest guy and smashed a bar stool on another's head, diving into the brawl like the happiest madman alive. Rachel used her size and agility to her advantage, weaving between the Neanderthals and aiming primarily for the groin. Her daddies had instilled some martial art skills in her from a young age, and though it had never been her preferred method of competition, the lessons had come in very handy. At one point, someone's meaty fist got her in the face, and it sent her reeling backwards. She scrabbled for a handhold, found a glass, and smashed it into his face in retaliation.

They put up a damn good fight, but it was three-to-eight, and the eight probably played college football; though Rachel still maintained it was superior numbers that drove them out of the bar, and not superior physical capability. Bruised and panting, the trio stood outside and faced off against the group, with the sexually repressed Andy leading the charge like a wounded bull.

Rachel smiled nervously. "Well gentlemen, this has been a lovely brawl, truly invigorating, but we really must be going." To Mercedes, she murmured, "How far away is our stolen car, again?"

"Too far," she replied grimly, still clutching the pool cue.

Andy advanced slowly. "I think you people ain't going anywhere."

"I think you should . . . learn some basic verbal grammar," Rachel advised. "It's a little hard to understand you, what with the swollen lip and drunken lisp and all."

Both Puck and Mercedes turned to glare at her. "What? It's true!"

Just as the herd was about to stampede, and before they could bolt, a car pulled up behind them. Rachel glanced over her shoulder, expecting the VA or maybe just the cops (the latter being a more viable option out here, where regular crime was still commonplace), or hell, maybe another truckload of hicks to deal with. But this car was a sleek corvette, bright red and very shiny. Rachel could see their startled faces reflected in the front door, until it opened and a girl stepped out.

She was very small, and looked a lot younger than she probably was. She was dressed in, of all things, a red and white cheerleading outfit, looking so out of place that for a moment all anyone could do was stare. Then the girl raised a bullhorn to her mouth and yelled at Andy and his gang. "BY ORDER OF MISS SYLVESTER, EVERYONE SCRAM!"

Rachel, Mercedes and Puck exchanged a quick worried glance as the group quickly slunk away – thankfully, not back inside the bar. _Sylvester?_ Rachel mouthed. Mercedes raised her eyebrows. _Run?_

Before Rachel could make a decision one way or the other, the girl's amplified voice interrupted with, "RACHEL BERRY?"

Wincing, both at the volume and the fact that her identity was being projected all over the immediate area, Rachel stepped forward. "Yes?"

The girl lowered her bullhorn and stepped forward with a piece of paper in hand. "Miss Sylvester demands an audience with you and your pathetic little ragtag team of cretins," she said formally, handing the paper to Rachel. "Be at the written address tomorrow at 17:00, or I will find you and cut you." With those parting words, she turned heel and strode back to the car. It drove off seconds later, leaving three confused people standing in the dust.

One minute of stunned silence later, Puck was the first to speak. "Scariest. Midget. Ever."

Mercedes shook her head, as if to clear it from the insanity of their life. "Okay, so what the hell does _Sue Sylvester_ want with us?"

Rachel glanced down at the paper in her hand. An address was written in abrasive, bold cursive, but it was the following words that made her frown. _I heard you people were looking for work. Don't ask how – as far as you know, I am omniscient and omnipotent, but most definitely not benevolent. Since I'm sure even you backwards freaks have heard of me, I don't need to tell you that refusing my generous invitation would be a very bad idea._

_Her Royal Majesty, King and Queen of the Midwest, USA_

_Sue Sylvester_

"I think . . . I think she wants to give us a job," she said, disbelieving. Then she smiled slowly. "Superb."

* * *

"No. Not remotely. In fact, I'm not sure that course of action would be at all prudent under the circumstances."

Quinn's pen tapped a cool, steady rhythm against her notepad. She skimmed her eyes over her previous notes critically as the caller on the other end of the line stuttered a reply. Resisting the urge to sigh, she cut him off.

"Mr Alcott. Blackmail is a very tricky affair. It's like a chess game, you understand? Being able to exploit another's weakness without exposing any of your own weaknesses."

She paused once again as he blabbered away, absently watching from a safe distance as Will, Finn, Artie and Tina engaged in an affectionately brutal game of . . . something. It involved a soccer ball, but somehow was not soccer. Eventually her patience ran out, and she said, "Look. Since you are paying for my professional opinion, I'll give it to you; don't blackmail your competitor at this stage, because it is too risky and you have a lot to risk right now. Wait one fortnight for the assets to come through, and then if he is still an issue, we'll return to the option of blackmail. The most important thing is for you to not panic, and remain in control of the situation. I'll be in touch, Mr Alcott."

Quinn ended the call with a deeply weary sigh. Why were there such morons in the world?

She was distracted by the sudden appearance of Tina, who had chased the soccer ball all the way over to the picnic table where Quinn had set up shop. She offered the blonde girl a bright smile. "Hey!"

Quinn smiled back. "Hey, yourself."

"So how's business?"

"Oh, same as usual. Frustrating and debilitating to my mental health. I'm almost tempted to give up and join in your game of . . . whatever it is you're playing. Who's winning, anyway?"

Tina grinned proudly. "Artie, as usual. It's like Finn said, he's practically a battering ram."

Quinn stretched her neck and saw the tall boy exchange a fist-bump with Artie. He said something which made both Will and Artie laugh, probably self-deprecating if the sheepish smile on his face was anything to go by. "Finn seems to be enjoying himself."

"Yeah, I think he's finally beginning to loosen up and trust us a bit. At least, when Puck's not hanging around being mean to him."

"Hmm. What about Kurt?"

Tina's smile lessened slightly. "He's been sleeping all afternoon. Or maybe just lying in bed pretending to sleep. But I was chatting to him earlier and he seemed a bit calmer and more coherent, which is good."

"He does seem to like you," Quinn observed, watching over Tina's shoulder as Finn loped back towards the van, probably to check on Kurt.

She laughed, twisting a blue lock around her finger. "I think he just likes my hair. He seems to have an affinity for colours and textures. I bet he used to watch _Project Runway._"

Quinn sighed and propped her chin on her hand. "God, I miss that show."

"Yeah, me too."

The two girls shared a moment of silent melancholy, which was interrupted by a battered white truck pulling up into the deserted campsite where they were currently taking refuge. Panic flared momentarily, until Quinn recognised it as the vehicle Puck had stolen earlier. Clearly, the Terrible Trio had returned.

"Looks like our idyllic afternoon has come to an end," she told Tina.

Tina smiled. "Guess so."

* * *

_The room is a sterile, fluorescent white. Like a hospital, or a lab. He is the rat, ramming his head up against the bars of his cage, over and over and over while the bright, piercing spotlight slowly and methodically divides the contours of his mind. __They extract his voice like a needle drawing blood, wringing his throat out until his voice sounds like shattered glass. There are shards in his throat, and in his limbs, and they cut into him when he moves. The strings bite into his wrists as he is jerked around their stage, bending and contorting to their whims._

_(Didn't Pinocchio use to be a real boy?)_

_Practise, practise, practise, they tell him. Practise, and you will be a star. But a star burns out when it gets too bright, too hot, and he can feel himself crumbling from the inside. He is splitting at the seams, and they thread him back together. __Once more, they tell him. No more, he says. But they jerk the string, and they sink the needles in, and they say, 'You don't want to go in the furnace, do you? That's where all the old puppets go, when their limbs fall off.'_

_No no no. Yes. Back onto the stage, and into the harsh laboratory spotlight. But he can't sing another broken note, or dance another step, so they come at him once more with the needle and thread, closer and closer and . . ._

"NO!"

Kurt jerked awake with a strangled scream of pure panic. Finn jumped, and his head collided with the ceiling. He spun around in time to see his brother stumble off his bed, knock over the small table, and curl against the opposite wall with his head clutched in his hands, whimpering faintly.

Finn approached cautiously, resisting the urge to clutch his own throbbing skull. "Kurt? Kurt, it's ok, it was just a dream. You're safe now." When the other boy didn't reply, he bit his lip and inched closer. "Do you recognise me?"

There was a pause, and then Kurt's familiar droll glare peeked out from between his arms. "Finn," he deadpanned.

He sounded so much like Old Kurt that Finn was too relieved to feel annoyed. He watched as Kurt straightened up, one hand pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Hesitantly, he asked, "Were you, um, dreaming about the school?"

Kurt avoided his gaze. "Doesn't matter," he said flatly.

"Well it kinda does, I mean, I'm not sure what went down while you were there, but you were just screaming and all, so maybe if you talked to me about it I could help? Maybe?" he rambled, trying to sound supportive and not moronic. But Kurt had stopped listening. He was glancing around _Elphaba_'s interior with a faint crease between his eyebrows.

"Not home yet," he observed, looking disappointed.

Finn sighed, his heart sinking. "No. It's too dangerous to go home right now. I'm sorry."

Kurt's mouth twisted briefly, as though on the verge of tears. Then he wrapped his arms around himself and glanced away, aloof and petulant. He used to do this when Burt put his foot down about something, like refusing to let him buy those new boots (which had pretty much been hooker heels, no matter how much Kurt had insisted they were for men). But the subtle, restrained edge to his sulk was gone, and now he just looked like a child, instead of a martyr (Finn had always envied his ability to pull off the martyr thing).

In the awkward, pouting silence that followed, he tried to think of something that would make Kurt feel better about their situation. But his efforts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Rachel Berry, who had apparently returned from her . . . um, outing.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said.

"Hey," Finn replied, frowning slightly at her frazzled appearance, and what looked like the beginning of a bruise on her cheek. He took a half-step forward. "Geez, are you okay?"

She shrugged, lifting her palms upwards in an almost cartoonish manner. "Oh, just a minor disagreement with some small-minded, small-town thugs, but what can you do?"

He felt a stab of alarm, and glanced over at his brother. "You got into a fight? Won't that attract the VA?"

"Oh no, no, no!" she reassured him hastily. "The higher authorities have no interest in petty brawls, and no one out here respects them enough to report it."

"Oh. Right," he said awkwardly as she rummaged around through one of the bags. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Rachel Berry. She seemed nice and friendly, and he was pretty sure that she wasn't going to turn either of them in, but there was something awfully . . . intense in her eyes that intimidated him a bit. He felt kind of stupid being intimidated by a girl who barely came up to his shoulders, but there was a hint of steel beneath her theatrical, bumbling manner; it reminded him that she had a mission, and she would do pretty much anything to see it completed. Also, she had apparently just gotten into a brawl and come out alive. Finn wondered if she was actually a bit crazy.

He came out of these contemplations in time to register that she was still talking. ". . . And really, it's not like this area was ever progressive to begin with, but the VA's influence has only made everything worse. I mean, their "music", if you could call it that, is so heteronormative that I would be surprised if kids today even know the definition of alternate sexuality," she ranted. Suddenly she spotted Kurt, who had slunk back to his bed and was watching her with a sharp, unmoving gaze. "Oh, it's good to see you up and about, Kurt. How are you feeling?"

Kurt didn't reply for a long moment. Then his eyes narrowed and he hissed, "_Argyle_."

"Excuse me?"

"Argyle. Offensive."

Finn sighed. "Kurt, we've talked about this. You can't judge nice people like Rachel on their clothes." _And you don't want to give her a reason to kick us out,_ he added silently, trying to glare the words into his brother's head. Kurt merely folded his arms and went back to sulking.

Rachel was also pouting, though she didn't look too devastated. "I have to stop travelling with fashion critics. They are always so mean to me."

"I think you look nice," Finn said.

Startled, Rachel glanced up at him in surprise. Then a small, shy smile stole across her face. "Well . . . thankyou." He smiled back, absently thinking that she was kind of pretty for a crazy person. Neither of them noticed Kurt rolling his eyes in the background.

Rachel suddenly cleared her throat. "Anyway. I ought to let you know that we have will be staying at this site for a few more days, until our next job is completed."

"You have a job?"

She smiled again, somewhat grimly. "Yes we do."

* * *

Puck hated their temporary car. It was dirty, and it gargled, and the off-white paint was scratched and rusted. He felt like he was driving around in . . . in a sick goose. Yeah. Something pathetic like that.

The Puckasaurus did not do pathetic. He was a Badass, Capital B. And he missed his bike.

"How is the woman supposed to take us seriously if we rock up in this lump of garbage, anyway?" he demanded to Rachel and Mercedes on the way to their rendezvous point. "We look like total losers. I've heard Sylvester _eats_ losers for breakfast."

"She wouldn't do that," Rachel replied vaguely, her eyes on the piece of paper that Sylvester's minion had given them earlier. "It would give her indigestion."

Mercedes was peering out at the surrounding area. There were a few houses dotted sparsely amongst the countryside, and every single one of them looked like a hotel. "Fact is, Puck, we don't have time to steal a nicer car," she told him, though her eyes couldn't help but linger on a shiny black Mercedes Benz that was visible up one of the driveways.

Puck followed her gaze, and smirked. "You sure 'bout that, Tramp? It'd only take me a couple minutes to get one of those sweet rides up and running."

She rolled her eyes at the nickname, which would have been offensive – _was_ offensive, actually – but which Puck felt he had the right to use because of a song they once did together while mildly drunk. He was under the impression that it was an affectionate nickname, probably. "Yeah, 'cause rocking up in a _stolen _car is so much better."

"Well, that is what we do. It'd be, like, advertising."

While they bickered, Rachel peered into the little eye mirror and fluffed he hair around fussily. "Remember, we are a strong, indomitable, competent group of people. Miss Sylvester can count on us, but she doesn't intimidate us."

"She kinda intimidates me," Mercedes muttered. "As well she should, being one of the most powerful bitches in the country."

"All the same. Strong, indomitable, and competent."

Rachel continued to chant those three words under her breath as they arrived at the address and came to a halt in front of a towering gate. Off to the side, the intercom crackled to life. _"Who goes there?"_

Rachel leaned over Puck (ignoring his grumbling), and cleared her throat. "My name is Rachel Berry, and my colleagues and I have an appointment with Miss Sylvester."

There was a pause, and then a new, female voice said, _"Remove yourself from that piece of scrap-metal on wheels, and get in here. I won't have that thing contaminating my driveway."_

"Told you so," Puck muttered as they got out of the truck and waited for the gate to open.

The three of them made their way up to the front door on foot, trying not to stare, slack-jawed, at Sylvester's enormous house. It was a highly modern design, all sharp, sloping edges that didn't look the least bit friendly. At the door they were met by two girls, dressed in cheerleader outfits like that other small minion had been wearing, who silently led them inside.

At first, Mercedes was surprised and suspicious of the lack of armed security – honestly, considering the rumours about this woman, she'd been expecting an entire black ops team guarding the house, or at least a few ninjas. Cheerleaders, while no doubt terrifying in the eyes of a high school freshman who actually studied and played Dungeons & Dragons, weren't exactly intimidating to adults in their line of work. But hell, maybe the girls were actually trained security, and the cheerleader outfits were merely a cover. Or a marketing gimmick. Possibly some weird fetish.

Puck was clearly going with the fetish theory, if his appreciative smirk was any indication. His line of sight was very obviously directed at the cheerleaders' tiny red skirts as they swished back and forth in tandem. Rolling her eyes, she leaned over and whispered, "Now is not the time to be thinking about sex, Puckerman."

"They're carrying knives," he replied casually. "Little tiny ones, hidden all over the place." She was about to call bullshit, but at that moment they passed by a window, and in the sunlight she distinctly saw the glint of something metallic between the folds in one of the girl's skirts. Off her surprised look, Puck smirked and said, "I can think about two things at once, you know."

So they were ninjas after all. Mercedes raised her eyebrow at him, mildly impressed. "Fair enough."

Sylvester's house seemed, if possible, even bigger on the inside. Mercedes had the vague, disconcerting sensation of being swallowed by some huge beast made up of shiny floorboards, wall-length mirrors (how vain _was_ this woman?) and rows upon rows of glass cases, with countless trophies on display. The place was luxurious, in its own way, but it gave her the creeps. So did the cheerleaders, for that matter, with their stiff, militaristic posture and hard, expressionless faces.

Mercedes glanced at Rachel, who was just slightly ahead of them like usual, and noticed the tense set of her shoulders; apparently, they shared the same sense of foreboding.

Eventually, the cheerleaders led them to a door at the end of the hall, and one of them rapped sharply on the dark wood. There was a tense pause, and then it swung open suddenly, revealing that tiny cheerleader from the bar. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the trio.

"Coach, they're here," she said loudly.

From somewhere inside the room, a voice replied, "Excellent. Bring 'em in."

The girl stepped back, waving Rachel, Puck and Mercedes forward into the room and leaving the other two standing in the hallway. She shut the door and then strode over to stand behind a large wooden desk, where a woman was sitting.

The woman had short blonde hair, was wearing a bright red tracksuit, and a pair of glasses. Mercedes recognised her immediately, having seen her on TV and thrown popcorn at her smug, hard-lined, pixelated face. Sue Sylvester, the most famous, infamous television personality in the whole Midwest, known for being a strong advocator of the anti-music laws, and other various politically incorrect issues. But despite technically supporting the VA, she still took every opportunity to insult them on TV along with everyone else, and her cult popularity meant that they couldn't do anything about it. Also, people who opposed her often got into mysterious accidents.

And now, she apparently wanted to involve them in her illegal activity. There was no way this could possibly end well.

After finishing off her sentence, Sylvester finally deigned to notice her guests. "Rachel Berry, I presume."

"That's me," Rachel said. "And these are my colleagues, Mercedes and Noah."

"I see you've met my protégé, Becky. Don't let the Hobbit blood fool you, she won't hesitate to slice you to ugly argyle ribbons if you so much as twitch wrong."

Rachel cleared her throat. "Duly noted."

Sylvester removed her glasses and tapped them to her lips, eyeing Rachel with a narrow, predatory gaze. "You have quite the reputation around here, but reports vary among the police reports and fan clubs. Frankly, I was expecting someone taller, and better dressed. I find it hard to believe that a little Anne Frank like you could pull off half the things that you're famous for."

Rachel drew herself up. "I can assure you, Miss Sylvester, that while I may not live up to the physical standard that you were expecting, our accomplishments are far from exaggerated. My team and I are highly competent, professional and discreet."

The older woman raised her eyebrow. "Well they clearly weren't kidding about the word vomit."

Rachel's ears went a bit red, but she held her head high. "If you do have a job for us, Miss Sylvester, I can assure you that we will get it done."

"Hmm. Well as it just so happens, I do. Look around, for a moment, and tell me what you see."

They did so, faintly confused. Then Rachel said, "Trophies?"

"That's right. Now, look over in that corner. What do you _not_ see?"

She looked over, and spotted a conspicuously empty case that was roughly her size. ". . . A big trophy?"

Sylvester's face tightened into a scowl. "Exactly. My prized possession, the most important relic of my career, and it's been stolen."

"Stolen from _here_?"

"God no, what kind of moron do you take me for? I was having it transported from one of my other estates, and it was intercepted by a horrible, beastly fiend. An old enemy, who will one day find herself at the wrong end of a sniper rifle, mark my words."

"I see. And I suppose you want us to steal your trophy back?"

"That would be about right."

Rachel nodded slowly. "What are your terms?"

"Not so fast, Berry. I want to get a few things straightened out first." Sylvester wandered around the edge of her desk and stood in front of them, her arms folded.

"As much as it pains me to say this, you and I have something in common. I also have a reputation, which is often prone to exaggeration. People say many things about me – that I'm a retired assassin, or maybe a working assassin. That I'm training an army of zombie robots. That I can invade people's dreams and plant dangerous and destructive thoughts in your head. Some say that I work for the government, the CIA, North Korea, an obscure and highly advanced alien race, etcetera, and I'll let you make your own conclusions about all that, but I can tell you one solid, indisputable fact about me for sure; I'm a winner. I compete. I win. By any means necessary."

She gestured to Becky, still standing patiently behind the desk. "I suppose you are aware that I used to be a National-winning cheerleading coach, back in the day. And I will also guess that despite your obvious colour-blindness in regards to your own clothes, you have noticed that my employees are in fact high school cheerleaders, whom I personally continue to train, and whom are currently doing work-placement as my security detail. Why cheerleaders, you ask? Because like me, every girl I train is a winner. They win because they work hard physically, they are very strictly disciplined, have little regard for their own pain and no regard for others' pain, they are mentally, emotionally and socially ruthless, and they will tear each other to pieces in order to remain on top of the pyramid, both figuratively and literally.

"The work sphere is just like a pyramid, you see, and I'm sitting pretty on top. I hold sway over the media, the government, the secret service, and an elite team of bored ex-Nazi hunters who are quite restless for something to do. So my point is – if you attempt to double-cross me, or run away, or tweak the arrangement at all in a way that I do not personally approve of, you will feel the full brunt of Sue Sylvester's wrath. You think life's tough now? Just try and make an enemy out of me.

"That said, if you take this job, not only will you be compensated handsomely, but I can also use my position to your advantage. I'll bet you could use a little less media attention, or for that matter, the attention of those wailing, record-spewing mutants, Vocal Adrenaline, am I right?"

Rachel didn't answer, but something in her face must have given away her thoughts, because Sylvester looked smug. "I thought as much. So. Are you prepared to work for Sue Sylvester?"

Rachel, Puck and Mercedes were silent for a long moment. The woman simply watched as they exchanged significant glances, her eyes thin and hawk-like. Finally, Rachel turned to her and nodded decisively. "Name your terms, Miss Sylvester."

She smirked. "Excellent."

* * *

_I have never written Sue before - or anyone like her, for that matter - so I'm a bit shaky on her characterisation. Also, in case you haven't already noticed, my action scenes really need some work. So please share your thoughts :)_

_Next part should be up within the week. Thanks for reading!_


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